Conquest II

by Tracey Warr

  ‘The Countess of Blois has written to you?’ Benedicta began tentatively, shifting nervously in her chair.

  ‘Yes.’ The Abbess flourished a rolled parchment with a broken wax seal hanging from its short red ribbon. ‘She has an extraordinary request that concerns you, I’m afraid, Benedicta.’

  ‘Concerns me?’

  ‘Yes. She requests that I give you leave to travel to her at Chartres. She says she has an important mission she wishes you to undertake concerning a gift of some precious books to that peculiar hermit, Robert d’Arbrissel. She says you will be away from here for quite some time. I don’t know what to make of it and I can find no way to refuse, although I have wracked my brain trying to think up an excuse. Here!’ She held the letter out to Benedicta. ‘Read it for yourself.’

  The letter was as the Abbess had summarised, and there was nothing more to be gleaned from reading it through, except that Benedicta was reassured to see that Countess Adela had not revealed that Benedicta had been sending spy reports to her for the past year.

  ‘I wonder why she asks for me,’ Benedicta risked, feigning a wondering expression.

  ‘Indeed! That was my first thought. She must have countless minions who could complete such a task. She says she heard about you from her brother, King Henry, because your brother, Sir Haith, is at the English court. She says the King has recommended you to her as a woman of the utmost discretion and loyalty. Of course he is not wrong in that, although I hear the voice of your fond brother, Haith, speaking those words!’ The Abbess twinkled her amusement at her friend.

  Benedicta squirmed in her seat, hating to deceive the Abbess, the word ‘loyalty’ stinging her ears like the brush of nettles. Perhaps it would be good to be out of Almenêches for a while, to try to outrun her own perjury. Besides, the idea of a journey to see Chartres, The Well of the Strong Saints, and The Virgin’s Holy Chemise, to meet with the great Adela de Blois in person – these were strong temptations. Benedicta hoped her confessor would not insist on a hair shirt when she got around to telling him that she was so guilty of lying. She luxuriated in the soft, red lambswool vest that Haith had sent her, which she wore concealed beneath her habit.

  Benedicta settled at the library desk to decipher a letter from Haith and send him a reply, telling him of her planned excursion to Chartres. He wrote that he had been about the King’s business, escorting a Welsh princess along muddy, potted roads to the betrothal of the King’s son. ‘She is the most beautiful and spirited person you would ever see, Benedicta, even in a rainstorm!’ he enthused. Benedicta clicked her tongue in irritation. He had written to her about this married noblewoman before, but she wished he would stop blinking at someone out of his reach and find himself, instead, a nice Flemish girl to wed and make her a nephew or niece.

  Her correspondence and her farewells done with, Benedicta took a last fond look around the cloister, stepped through the portal in the great doors and stood blinking on the other side of the walls of Almenêches. It was a few years since she had been outside, and she drank in the light, the smell of new-mown hay in the air, the sounds of birdsong and peasants calling to each other in the fields. The Abbess had arranged for a lay servant to accompany her to Chartres. He was a big lad, just coming into his full strength, arm muscles bulging. He stood holding her palfrey’s head, waiting for her to mount. He will do, sure enough, she thought to herself. In any case, there would be little point in anyone trying to rob her on the road. All she carried with her was a brief letter from Abbess Emma to Countess Adela, and the thick travelling cloak and small dagger Haith had given her when he first heard she was ‘gallivanting about the bandit-strewn countryside’, as he put it. She had been on a few missions outside the abbey before, being the only nun entrusted with such external business, but it had been a while. She smiled to the young man holding her horse, took a deep breath, set her hands on the saddle and her small, booted foot into the stirrup.

  4

  Cumberworlds

  The horses trod gingerly down the steep green bank towards the river crossing. Evening was drawing on and we would cross the Tywi and reach the monastery beyond for nightfall. We could hear the rush of the river but could not see it yet through dense willows crowding the edge. I leant towards Haith, to be heard above the sound of the stream. ‘Will you stay …?’ I began. Haith grunted and slumped sideways in the saddle towards me. I put out a hand to steady him. Arrows thumped into a tree close by. Haith’s horse rolled its eyes in panic, readying to rear. Haith’s face was contorted, his hand gripping the arrow shaft projecting from his shoulder. I pushed my horse closer still, grabbing his reins, pressed my knee against his. I kicked my horse on hard towards the water and yanked at Haith’s panicking mount. ‘Hold on, Haith!’ A blur of men armed with bows emerged from the trees but I did not pause. I knew the crossing here well. I gripped Haith’s arm and heard him cry out in pain, but I kept the pressure of my knees on my own palfrey and urged both horses forwards into the water, swiftly up the bank, and into a full gallop across the open land beyond. Haith jostled against me, groaning.

  The horses began to tire. I swerved into a thick copse at the side of the road, forcing the horses to stumble against tree roots and having to duck my head at low boughs until we were far from the road. I pulled up and jumped to the ground. Haith half-fell from the saddle into my arms, grimacing and groaning. ‘Haith!’ I lowered him to the ground on his side, the arrow protruding front and back.

  ‘Have we lost them?’ he asked.

  ‘I think so. They did not expect us to keep going.’

  ‘Welsh … warriors?’ he gasped, his face pale and sweating.

  ‘Yes.’ I took Haith’s knife from the scabbard at his waist and cut his leather tunic and shirt from the wound. I cut off the arrow tip on the part of the shaft protruding from his back, doing my best to minimise the movement of the arrow in his flesh. I sat beside him, lifted my skirts above my knees and ripped two wads of linen from the hem of my shift. I cut a long white strip for a makeshift bandage to bind him together. Amelina would be angry at the state of my underclothes but she would be angrier if Haith, who had always been a favourite with her, did not survive. ‘Shall I find something for you to bite on?’ I looked around me desperately.

  ‘No. Just do it, Nest.’

  I stared for a moment into his eyes, stood, gently positioned one booted foot against his chest to steady us both, laid hold of the long shaft protruding from his shoulder and pulled as hard and straight as I could. Haith groaned and his eyes rolled in his head as he lost consciousness. I sobbed, stared at the broken, bloodied arrowshaft shaking in my hands. I threw it from me, wishing ardently that Amelina were here with me. ‘Don’t die, Haith, please don’t die,’ I moaned to his senseless face. Clumsily, around my shaking fingers, I stemmed the blood at the front and back of the wound with the pads made from my ripped shift, tying them in place with the long strip wound around and under his arm. Birds sang blithely, careless of us.

  All the while, I was afraid the men would pursue and find us. Did they know who I was, or was this simply a random attack on a couple they presumed to be Norman? I decided we were as safe as we could be, concealed in the undergrowth, until Haith regained consciousness and darkness fell. I would easily hear anyone approaching us through this thicket. I looked at Haith’s long sword. Could I wield it? I decided I would not have the strength and tightened my grip on his knife instead.

  The sound of the birds died down and light began to fail. Was there some other course of action I should be taking? I stood and unhooked the skin slung from my saddle, taking a gulp of water and then held it dripping against Haith’s lips. He opened one eye. ‘We’re alive then.’ He looked terrible. Dark purple smears beneath his eyes were vivid against his pallor.

  I smiled. ‘I don’t know whether to move or stay here.’

  ‘It will get too cold. We can’t be far from the monastery. If our attackers had pursued us, we’d know it by now.’

  ‘The monk
s won’t let us in at this time of night.’

  ‘They will if you hammer hard enough and tell them you have an injured man.’

  ‘Can you get into the saddle?’

  ‘I can do what I have to,’ he said, grimacing and leaning hard against me as I supported him to the horse. I held the horse steady and he pulled himself up with his one good arm. I mounted and leant to take the reins of his horse again. ‘I can manage with one arm and my knees,’ he said. Briefly, he placed his good hand on my arm. ‘Thank you, Nest.’

  I shook my head. ‘It was just an arrow that needed pulling out.’ I could hear the wobble of near-hysteria in my own voice.

  We exchanged a long glance and then kicked our horses on to a slow pace.

  The monks improved on the patch job I had done on Haith’s wound and we were back on the road towards Pembroke in a few days. I had sent one of the older novices to Gerald to explain our delay.

  We were a few hours out of Pembroke, when I saw Gerald approaching at the head of a unit of soldiers. As we neared I could see that my husband’s face was etched with anxiety. His worry turned quickly to anger as we came to close quarters. ‘My wife should never have been on the road without me, with just an escort of one man!’ he shouted at Haith, whose face expressed his great remorse and distress.

  ‘Gerald! You are shouting in the wrong place. Haith took the arrow and saved my life and there is no fault to be found here.’

  He looked at us both chagrined, reached his gauntletted hand to mine and brought my hand to his lips. ‘Yes. I apologise, Haith. Thank God, you were not harmed, Nest. Do you know who they were? The men of Owain ap Cadwgan, I’ll wager.’

  ‘I don’t know. We did not linger for introductions. There was no indication who they were. Bandits perhaps.’

  ‘They knew who you were,’ he said. ‘Come, let’s get Haith to Amelina’s ministrations, and you too Nest. Though you are unharmed, it must have been a frightening experience.’

  It was wash day, and I knew Amelina would be down at the river with the other maids. Haith had healed and returned to court. I had discovered that I was carrying another child and Amelina was certain it would be a girl this time. I took little Henry’s hand and told him we were going to see the cave and find Amelina. He had lately started to walk, or more accurately to run, since that was his principal speed. His balance was precarious and his progress reckless. Remembering our last expedition when he had tumbled on some steps and worn a green bruise on his cheek for days, and another occasion when I was obliged to pick up my skirts and pursue him across the courtyard and into the stables, with all the maids and soldiers laughing at us, I picked up a long, thin strip of woven cloth and wrapped it around my wrist.

  ‘He is fast,’ Amelina had declared, ‘like a darting kingfisher!’ Yes, fast and brilliant, I thought, trying not to remember his father.

  I led him carefully down the steps into the curious vast cave beneath the castle, which was named The Wogan by the local people. Little Henry would not let me carry him anymore, so patience was required to allow him to clamber up and down obstacles on his short, unsteady legs. As soon as he reached the bottom of the steps, he was running full tilt, undeterred by the gloom. ‘Be careful! The ground is uneven!’ I let him explore, and told him that ancient people had once lived in this cave, long before the castle was built above it.

  ‘Cold!’ he said.

  ‘Yes! Come.’ I held out my hand. ‘Let’s look for Amelina now.’

  We stood for a moment watching the women bending to their tasks at the river’s edge. White sheets, shifts and nightgowns were draped across the rocks, being scrubbed, rinsed and wrung.

  ‘Lina!’ Henry shouted, and she looked up at us smiling, suds on her arms, sweat on her face and the tops of her breasts. Henry pulled me towards her.

  ‘Don’t tread on the clean linens,’ I told him, ‘or you will make more work for Amelina and she will be cross.’ The other women called out affectionately to him, threatening to tickle him and blowing soapsuds from their hands to land on his nose. So close to the river’s edge, I took my woven strip, tying one end under his arm and the other to my wrist. He frowned and pouted at me as I did it. If he fell in the water I might not get to him in time, before the fast current took him, swept him around the foot of the castle like flotsam, and carried him out to the grey swell of the cold sea.

  ‘Are you planning to fish with Henry as bait?’ Amelina laughed. ‘It’s a good idea to tether that boy, that kingfisher!’ She kissed his cheek. We watched him poking his pudgy fingertip into a bar of softened soap. ‘Taking a break!’ Amelina called to the other women. She sat down on a flat rock next to me. Henry had found a gull on the beach to clap his hands at.

  ‘I wanted to talk to you about Gerald,’ I said.

  ‘How was it with the King in Cardiff?’ Amelina cut straight to the heart of the matter. She had taken care of me when the King had abandoned me, when I had to pass through my great distress and come to accept my life as Gerald’s wife.

  ‘It’s done with. I told him to leave me in peace with my husband and he agreed to it.’

  ‘Good. Gerald loves you dearly, Nest. It was wrong of him to allow the King to take you as his mistress, but he knows he was in error and suffers for it in all ways.’

  ‘And yet, he did it. And gained position and land from it. We won’t see eye to eye on this, Amelina. On Gerald, you are ever his champion.’

  ‘People should be forgiven sometimes is all.’

  I compressed my lips. I was not inclined to forgiveness in the main. I had found that if you forgave, invariably the offender would take the opportunity to give you yet more cause for offence.

  ‘Things are good, aren’t they?’ Amelina asked. ‘Between you and Gerald I mean.’

  I nodded. ‘Good. Just good.’

  ‘You underestimate him,’ she said. ‘He has hidden depths.’

  ‘I am well aware of his hidden depths.’

  ‘No. No, you are not. I’m not talking about the Henry incident.’

  ‘By that, you mean Gerald’s great deception on our wedding day, I suppose. The fact that Gerald sold me over to the King for his advancement?’

  ‘For his self-preservation,’ she said, ‘and I didn’t notice you mourning it for long.’

  ‘You forget yourself,’ I told her, furiously.

  We were both silent for a while, regarding each other, shocked at the violence of this unwonted disagreement between us.

  ‘What other hidden depths do you mean?’ I said, eventually.

  ‘Do forgive him about Henry,’ Amelina whispered gently, hoping not to rouse my anger again.

  I shrugged. ‘Well?’

  ‘Gerald is no fool.’

  ‘I know that.’

  ‘He could have gone down with the Montgommerys, been attainted with his lord, Arnulf de Montgommery, and banished from the kingdom, but he survived it.’

  ‘I know.’

  That evening, I lay on my bed naked, my belly visibly swelling with the child. Gerald stood with his back to me, fully dressed, staring out of the window of my chamber at the full moon. ‘Gerald, nothing happened between me and the King,’ I said for the third time since my return to Pembroke. My husband had not lain with me since my return, but at least this time he had come all the way into my room.

  ‘I wish I could believe that.’ His voice was tight.

  What cumberworlds these men were. I levered myself up and strode to him. I pressed myself against his back, embracing him, kissing the back of his neck where his fair hair curled. ‘Do not insult me. I’m telling you the truth. The child is yours – you can see that. Yes, Henry would have taken me to his bed if I had allowed it, but I did not. I told him I was happy with you, here at Pembroke.’ I pulled him around to face me and he came unresisting, but his eyes were closed.

  ‘You’ve never been mine. You were always his.’

  ‘Don’t throw such falseness at me! You know you gave me to the King. If you can’t tru
st me, if you can’t believe me, then we should separate. I will go and live at Carew.’

  I walked away from him but before I could reach the bed, his arms were around me. ‘Nest! I cannot live without you.’

  And so we were reconciled yet again. I was so happy, as I had told the King. And it was not enough.

  The sun streamed into my chamber and I took the ‘O sea-bird’ scroll from my jewellery box to read it through, wondering again who had sent it. Sometimes, I confessed to myself, I hankered for another life. Instead of returning the poem to the jewellery box, I opened the lid of the large, carved chest where I kept all my parchment rolls. The chest was filling now with poems by Welsh bards, which I had commissioned. The world conjured by words was sometimes a nicer place to dwell in than the world conjured by the ploughs and swords around me. Carefully placing the seabird scroll where it could not be crushed, my fingers touched the soft, crimson leather of my journal. I had not looked at it or written in it since the day that I knew Henry had abandoned me. I lifted it out and smoothed my palm slowly down its cover. The cover was decorated with a rectangular frame, with interlacing patterns at the top and the bottom in bright yellow and blue-grey. In the middle, there was a drawing of a chalice with stems projecting, covered in leaves and fruits. I turned the small book over in my hands. Inside, its pages were made from smooth, creamy parchment and not the scratchy, hairy strips I sometimes had to resort to writing on for my daily lists and notes. I knew I could not bear to read what I had written at the height of my affair with Henry. I slapped my hand onto the last piece of writing so that it was concealed from my eyes. Giving me the journal, Henry had laughed at me, calling me ‘his inky clerk’. I tried not to remember that day, how I had felt about him. I began to write, instead, on how I felt about Gerald.