‘Where might the stables be?’ I asked, wondering what I should call the man.
‘The stables, my lady?’ While he had doubtless understood the question, he was obviously struggling, trying to find a reason I might want to visit the stables.
‘There is a horse, Dulcette, a grey mare, who I wondered about. I rode her here to Pengraic, and I wondered if she were well.’
Sweet Virgin, I sounded like a simpleton! ‘Dulcette?’ he said. ‘The stables,’ I said firmly, and suddenly all was well. Just the change in tone, from query to command, had put the man at his ease.
‘My lady,’ he said, now quite happy, and led me toward the north-eastern wall.
Here was a large stable block, as much a hive of activity as the rest of the outer bailey. I thanked the soldier as he left me at the main doors, then I stepped inside. A man grooming one of the horses put down his brush and, having learned from my mistake with the soldier, I asked in a confident tone that, if there were a grey mare here called Dulcette, might he show me to her.
Instantly he led me down the ranks of horses and there, to my delight, was Dulcette.
She whickered in recognition when she saw me, and I hastened over to her, patting her neck and stroking her nose, and feeding her the apple which I had kept hidden in my skirts. I was glad to see her, and a little guilty that I had left it this long. In her turn, Dulcette appeared pleased to see me and blew warm air over me as she butted her face into my chest.
‘I am about to ride out along the spur to Pen Cerrig-calch. Join me.’
I looked up.
My husband was standing in the aisle of the stable, holding the reins of his bay courser.
‘Truly?’ I said, and the earl smiled slightly at the delight in my voice. He called to one of the grooms to saddle Dulcette, and in a few minutes we were leading our horses out into the sun.
Although it was a bright day I was wearing a mantle borrowed from the stable: my husband … Raife … had insisted I wear a mantle as the top of the mountain would be cold.
‘She’ll pull hard today,’ Raife said as he helped me mount. ‘She’s not been exercised since you arrived apart from a turn about the outer bailey now and again.’
‘Then if she runs away with me I shall reach the top of the mountain before you,’ I said, grinning in anticipation of the ride.
I was also absurdly pleased to realise that we were riding without an escort. There would just be Raife and myself.
Oh, that was such a morning. I look back on it now, so many years later, and think what a glorious day it was. We rode out the northern gates of Pengraic and took to the track that curled around the spur connecting Pengraic Castle to the greater mountain of Pen Cerrig-calch. My husband was more relaxed than I had ever seen him. Both horses pulled hard, and eventually we gave them full rein, laughing as the horses surged ahead, putting down their heads and blowing away their high spirits on the climb to the mountain peak. The wind blew away the hood of my cloak, then unravelled the loose plait over my shoulder that I’d taken to wearing after Raife told me how much he liked it, and my black hair streamed out in the sun. My husband looked over at me and the look on his face made me happy, so happy.
From the mountain peak the view took my breath away. The land lay before me, brilliantly coloured in the bright, bright day. The castle was far below, and even further the gentle winding river, and the wide valley stretched as if into eternity. Behind us mountains and thick woods.
Between us, nothing but smiles and occasional laughter. I don’t think I’d ever seen Raife this light of heart before. We sat our horses, both close, our legs bumping now and again as our mounts moved beneath us.
All of creation was ours that morning. No troubles lay between us, all was open and shared, nothing was amiss. I could forget that I had ever feared the Earl of Pengraic.
Raife pointed out many of the features in the landscape — the mountains, the villages, the fields, the winding roads and the river.
I thought about that night when Stephen had taken me to the top of the northern keep and I had seen the mountain and hill tops alive with torchlight, and, suddenly, my husband brought it up, too.
‘I remember you telling me that Stephen had brought you to the top of the northern keep so that you might see the dancers in the moonlight,’ he said, ‘weaving their way about a man with light on his head.’
I nodded, wondering where he was going with this.
‘It is easy to believe in the old legends,’ he said softly, his eyes faraway as he gazed at the view, ‘on a day like this, with the sun in our faces, and the world laid out before us.’
‘It is,’ I said, enjoying his relaxed mood. This was a man I so rarely saw out of the confines of our bed.
He turned his face my way and gave me such a gentle smile that my heart gave an unsteady beat.
‘You have such a lovely, enchanting old soul,’ he said, ‘and I have to fight so hard to guard my own against you. Sometimes I worry that you threaten everything I am, and all that I want and have fought so damned, damned hard for.’
My old anxiety that he was somehow angry at me resurfaced, but then he pushed his bright bay courser close to Dulcette and gave me a kiss.
‘Mae, promise me something.’
‘Anything, my lord.’
‘Trust me, blindly if you have to, but trust me. Sometimes it may seem as if what I propose is wrong, or leads down some dark path … but always, always trust me, and I promise I will never mean you harm, nor lead you to harm. I will do nothing, ever, to harm you.’
I remembered that on our marriage night he had asked me the same thing.
‘Of course I will trust you,’ I said. ‘Always.’
He kissed me again, deeper this time, until only the movement of the horses broke our mouths apart.
Ah, that bright, bright morning, laughing atop Pen Cerrig-calch, my hair blowing in the wind, my husband at my side and nothing between us but the joy of the day. I held its memory close, for many years. I was falling deeply in love with my husband by that morning, although I did not yet recognise it.
We were, I suppose, about halfway down the ridged spur leading back to the castle. Of necessity we were riding slower than we had ascended, for it was far easier for the horses to slip on descent than ascent.
We had been chatting about light matters. Suddenly Raife’s attention was caught by something in the valley. He had remarkable sight, for all I could see was the movement of horses and the bright sparkle of metal.
It was, he later told me, that sparkle that warned him. He pulled his courser to a halt, standing in the stirrups for a better view, shading his eyes against the sun.
Then he swore, softly, violently.
‘What is it?’ I said.
‘An armed force,’ he said. ‘A hundred men, perhaps, riding to Pengraic. Come, kick Dulcette forward, we must make haste.’
‘Who?’ I said, concerned at the worry in Raife’s voice.
‘The Welsh,’ he said. ‘It can be no one else. There is no other force west of Pengraic that can command those numbers. It must be Madog.’
The Welsh prince! Heart in mouth, I urged Dulcette down the slope after Raife.
Chapter Ten
The northern gates clanged shut behind us and I heard the sound of them being bolted and barricaded. Raife rode straight through the outer bailey, through the high-arched passageway under the northern keep and into the inner bailey.
I followed as close as I could. I was intensely relieved to be inside the castle, but terribly anxious about what was to happen. Were the Welsh about to lay siege?
Raife jumped down from his horse, letting it skittle about in nervousness as he raced to the steps leading to the parapets and guard towers by the main gates. I pulled Dulcette to a halt, not sure what to do, and was relieved when Owain came over and helped me to dismount.
‘What is happening?’ I said to him.
‘A Welsh column,’ he said. ‘Some hundred men, heavily armed,
Madog at their head.’
‘How did they get this far?’ I said. ‘There are castles, men, further down the valley, are there not?’
‘Only one small fort,’ Owain said, ‘and that poorly manned as the earl has brought most of the men back here to help replace those lost to the plague. They would have watched Madog ride past and not attempted to prevent his passage. No wonder Madog feels he can ride this far with such impunity.’
‘What is he doing here? Is he laying siege?’
Owain shrugged.
I looked up. Raife stood with d’Avranches and several other knights at the top of the northern gate tower. They were looking to the east, down the road which doglegged its way up the slope to the castle.
Sweet Jesu, was the Welsh prince already at the gates? I wondered if the outer bailey was a safe place to stay.
Pengraic was now engaged in conversation with d’Avranches and the knights. He gestured emphatically, making his point, and d’Avranches and the others nodded, several times.
Then d’Avranches and the knights clattered down the steps to the outer bailey, calling for their horses, as well as for several other knights to join them.
Owain wandered over. I hesitated, then followed him.
‘What is happening?’ I asked d’Avranches as he belted on weapons with sharp, hard movements.
He spared me a single glance. ‘Madog has approached under the flag of truce. I am leading a party out to see how honestly he means that flag.’
‘Many say Madog is an honourable man,’ Owain said mildly, and d’Avranches spared him a longer, harder glance.
‘With a sharp sword and a penchant for revenge,’ d’Avranches said, fastening his helmet. Then he turned, shouting for his knights to mount and grabbing the reins of his own horse.
I stood back hastily as they booted their horses toward the main gate. Guards opened the wicket gate for them, then slammed and bolted it as soon as the last rider was through.
Again hesitating, then reminding myself I was the countess, I walked over to the wicket gate, which had a small eye-level window in it.
‘Is it safe to see?’ I asked one of the guards.
He nodded, opening the little door that covered the barred window, and I stepped close.
The Welsh had halted just where the road to the castle doglegged before turning into the final straight stretch to the main gates. They were well ordered, armoured and weaponed in maille and helmets, shields, and carrying either spears or lances as well as their swords. All wore red tunics under their maille. At their head sat one man on a horse, holding the flagstaff, a white flag fluttering at its head.
Next to him sat another rider.
His entire bearing, his armour, his accoutrements, spoke of his authority.
Madog ap Gruffydd, Prince of the Welsh.
I felt Owain at my shoulder, and I stepped aside so he could see.
‘It is Madog,’ he said, somewhat unnecessarily, ‘and his Teulu.’
‘Teulu?’
‘His personal bodyguard,’ Owain said. ‘He can also call on men from lands under his rule to serve in his army when and if he needs it, but his Teulu stay with him always.’
‘Could he not have come to surrender?’ I asked. ‘The white flag …’
‘He has no reason to surrender,’ Owain said. ‘This is more like the flag of truce. Gruffydd wants to talk and that is why d’Avranches has gone. To find out what he wants.’
‘Isn’t that dangerous?’
‘Yes.’ Owain stepped back, letting me see again.
D’Avranches and his party had reached the Welsh, halting some six or seven paces away from Madog.
‘He is so vulnerable,’ I murmured.
‘If the Welsh attacked,’ Owain said, ‘yes. But the Welsh themselves are within arrow strike of the castle and you can be sure your husband has several score of arrows trained on them right now. If the Welsh attacked d’Avranches and his men, they would not escape unscathed. But I do not think they mean to attack.’
Every so often, as the wind blew our way, I could hear snatches of voices, if not distinct words. Eventually d’Avranches looked up to where Raife stood atop the walls, and made a gesture. He waited, obviously for some response from Raife, then looked back to Madog, giving a single nod.
Madog pulled his horse to one side, and d’Avranches and his party rode forward, being absorbed into the Welsh ranks.
I stepped back to let Owain have a view. ‘What is happening?’ I said. ‘Madog wants to talk,’ Owain said. ‘D’Avranches and his men stay as hostages for Madog’s safe return. The Welsh are returning down the road — they’ll wait at the foot of the mountain. Stand back now, my lady. Madog approaches.’
I retreated hastily, just as the guards opened the wicket gate.
Madog clattered through.
He turned his head to look at me almost immediately — I was closer to him than any save Owain — and I suddenly realised that I must look like a wild wood maid, with my hair loose and tangled about me.
I could not see his face, for he wore a helmet much like those in Norman fashion and it obscured most of his face, but otherwise he had an exotic feel about him — his tunic was a rich, deep red like that of his men, and the designs on it and on his shield — hung behind his saddle — were unfamiliar.
Then he was past me, and halted before my husband, who had come down from the parapets.
Madog dismounted, and he spoke with Pengraic quietly. The men came to some agreement, each nodding, and they turned for the great keep, Madog unbuckling his helmet and taking it off as they did so.
Again I hesitated, not knowing what I should do, but Raife turned, made an impatient gesture to me, and thus I hurried after them.
They strode through the central courtyard of the great keep and up the stairwell into the solar. I had to hurry to keep up with them, and by the time I stepped into the solar I was breathing deeply, wishing that I could have had but a few moments of time alone in which to tidy my hair.
Madog dropped his helmet on the top of a bench, making a loud, startling clattering sound in the solar. He turned slowly, taking in his surroundings, eventually coming face to face with me.
I was shocked by his commanding presence. I had always thought of Madog as a savage, a rebel lurking amid the wild, misty hills of Wales, and this darkly handsome clean-shaven man, elegant and assured, was not what I had expected at all. His black hair was very short, close-cropped to his skull, and it accentuated the strong bones of his face and the darkness of his eyes.
He must have been surprised by me. Both the richness of my kirtle and my presence in the solar with them indicated high status.
My wild tangled hair — well, sweet Christ alone knew what he made of that.
I had an urge to dip in courtesy, but forced myself to restraint. ‘My lady,’ Madog said, his voice holding the faintest note of question, as he stepped forward to take one hand to kiss it.
‘My wife, Maeb,’ Pengraic said.
Madog did not let go of my hand. His eyes were warm, very dark, glittering with something I thought may have been amusement. ‘This lovely countess is not the one I remember,’ he said.
I had thought he would have a coarse accent, but his voice, like his appearance, was well modulated and sweet, and he spoke courtly French well, with no hint of difficulty.
‘Adelie died in the plague,’ Raife said.
‘And took her comb with her,’ Madog murmured to me, low enough that Raife, standing by the hearth, would not have heard.
‘A tragic loss,’ Madog said, in a louder voice, dropping my hand and walking over to Raife. ‘But I hear loss was extreme at this castle. Your children?’
‘Dead,’ Raife said. ‘What do you want?’
‘Not even wine with which to smooth our reacquaintance?’ Madog said.
I moved to the table, where stood a pitcher of spiced wine and wine cups, serving both my husband and Madog. Then I moved away, walking briefly into the privy chamber to
fetch my comb before returning to the solar, sitting on a chair slightly distanced from those about the hearth, and combing out my hair as I listened to the men talking, watching to see if they needed more wine.
There were few pleasantries exchanged. They talked about the plague, Madog pressing Raife for information about how badly the plague had struck the castle, Raife just as assiduously avoiding giving him any information.
‘But it must have been bad,’ Madog said, ‘if its toll including the tragic loss of your wife and children.’
‘It was bad enough,’ Raife said. ‘And you, Madog? How did your lands fare?’
I remembered my husband’s earlier keenness to discover how far the plague had travelled into Welsh territory, and I listened carefully for Madog’s answer.
‘The death scarcely brushed us,’ Madog said. ‘God’s punishment only extended to the English, it seems.’
‘I heard hundreds died in this valley alone.’
‘Then you heard wrong. Less than a dozen died in the Usk Valley and none deeper into my lands.’
I could hear no deception in Madog’s voice and looked to my husband. One of his hands was idly stroking his chin as he studied Madog, and I thought I saw some uncertainty in his eyes.
‘But I thank you for your concern,’ Madog said, waving his cup about.
I rose and fetched the pitcher, refilling Madog’s cup as Raife grunted in response to what he had said.
‘My lady,’ Madog said as thanks, and for one moment I was stilled, spellbound by his powerful eyes.
‘But to the point,’ Madog continued, as I returned the pitcher to its table top. ‘The devastation of the plague is why I am here. Surely you have guessed my anxiety?’
Pengraic raised an eyebrow as I sat down once more. ‘My wife,’ Madog said quietly. ‘My son. Are they still living?’
His wife and son? Why should my husband know about them?
‘I do not know,’ Raife said. ‘My concern was always for my family, not yours.’
‘And yet you have had as guest recently Prince Henry. He said nothing?’
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