Conquest II

by Tracey Warr

  ‘Careful!’

  Suddenly, I slid fast into the water, finding no handholds to slow my fall, gasping at the cold, my skirts billowing around me, my headveil falling to float like a lily.

  ‘Nest!’ With a big splash, Haith was in the water beside me, holding my arm. The horses looked up briefly from their cropping to regard us.

  ‘Don’t fear!’ I spluttered, ‘I can’t drown in here.’

  ‘No, but you can turn into a frost candle.’

  ‘A what?’

  He dipped his head swiftly underwater and reemerged clutching his errant shoe, which he threw onto the bank. ‘Frost candle. You say icicle.’ He followed his shoe, hauling himself easily onto the bank with his long arms, but his bare feet slipped and slid on the rocks. Water poured from his trews and shirt. He held one arm fast around a boulder and reached another to me.

  He hauled me out to stand before him, and shivering, feeling the moss between my bare toes, the weight of my sodden gown, I stepped close to him, put my hand on his chest and kissed him. It seemed as if the moment before I had been unconscious. There was no thinking. Then I was aware of my mouth on his, my tongue exploring his lower lip. ‘Oh.’ I stepped away from him. Should I apologise?

  ‘My lady, forgive me.’

  I looked up at him through wet lashes. ‘It was me.’ Words are impossible, I thought impatiently. I stepped close to him again, took his face in my hands, stood on tiptoe to kiss him again. Perceiving that there was no error here, no fault now, he responded, his tongue sliding into my mouth, his hands following the contours of my shoulders and then my breasts. We were both breathing heavily, plucking at each other’s wet clothes. My gown dropped heavily to the ground like ripe fruit falling from the tree. The horses took no notice as we stood naked together in the dappling green. We lay on the ground and he slid his hands along every surface of my body, and I did the same to him, delighted by the long, solid planes of his arms and the contours of his muscled stomach. I touched my fingers to the scar on his shoulder where I had pulled out the arrow. I knelt above him and slid him into me, never taking my eyes from his face as I rose up and down on him. I cried out with pleasure and subsided on his chest. We lay heaving in synchronicity with one another, our breath gradually slowing, the sun warming my back and buttocks as I lay against him. Something just for myself, I thought. I have taken something I wanted for myself.

  He caressed my shoulder. ‘Your skin is white as the wave tops, and your dark hair rolls and ripples like the sea,’ he said, twirling a strand around his finger. ‘Yr wylan deg ar lanw, dioer,/Unlliw ag eiry neu wenlloer. O sea-bird, beautiful upon the tides,/ White as the moon is when the night abides.’

  I lifted my head to look at him in great surprise. ‘It was you!’

  ‘Yes,’ he said. ‘I remember when I first met you in a boat on Thames. You were a brilliant, shining girl on your way to Westminster for the first time, before you were married.’

  ‘I remember. You overslept that morning!’ We laughed.

  ‘No improvements,’ he said. His face became serious again. ‘Had to watch you come to Henry after your husband betrayed you to him.’

  ‘Gerald did his best for me. He loved me.’

  ‘Yes, and he was ambitious for himself.’

  A tear escaped the corner of my eye. ‘And you, Haith? You have no ambition?’

  ‘My only ambition,’ he said, touching a fingertip to my tears, ‘is not to be the cause of this.’

  We were silent for a while. ‘I watched you fight your battles so valiantly,’ he said. ‘With Henry, with Gerald, with Owain. And must stand by, my hands hanging useless.’

  ‘I never thought of any of it as fighting battles.’

  ‘No?’

  ‘Perhaps.’

  ‘I got frantic when Owain abducted you. Begged Henry to send me in pursuit but we were in Normandy and the news was three months old at least. He said de Belmeis was a better course.’

  ‘He wished to keep you with him.’

  ‘Yes. I badgered every messenger for news of you. It’s the only time in my life I considered disobeying the King. I couldn’t understand how Henry and Gerald could be so calm about it. Henry simply said: “She won’t be harmed”, and Gerald did not reply to my letter.’

  ‘You wrote to him?’

  ‘Yes, seeking news of you, of the actions made to recover you.’

  I pondered this and realised that Gerald had made precious little effort to rescue me. As far as I knew, he had sent no pursuit and no delegations to Cadwgan. My rescue had been wholly the work of Henry, through his mediator, de Belmeis. Gerald had just passively received me back. He had been shamed to have his wife stolen by a Welsh prince, and at his own escape through the garderobe. His shame and his anger had been stronger than his love or care for me.

  How stupid I had been, all this time, not to see how Haith felt about me. How stupid not to see how I felt about him. ‘Again?’ he asked and I smiled, rolling off him and onto my back, opening my legs. His hand covered one of my breasts and he knelt above me, looking at me. I gasped as he entered me, as I had gasped at the cold water of the pool, and I gripped my two hands around his buttocks, pulling him harder and faster into me until we both fell still and silent again.

  ‘Nest! Haith! Lady!’ The crash of branches being moved about came from the copse below.

  ‘Oh Lord! It’s Amelina!’ We had been lying there for hours. I had lost all track of time. The horses stood quietly, their bridles trailing, each with one leg resting on the tip of a hoof. I scrabbled for my clothes that had begun to dry in the sun but were still very damp and pulled on what I could with difficulty. I slung my cloak around me and turned back to Haith to see that he too had the semblance of decent clothing about him just as Amelina crunched up the slope and appeared next to the horses, at the edge of the trees.

  ‘Lord! Nest! I’ve been worried out of my mind. The tide’s come in and I saw the hoofprints on the beach. I thought the worst.’ She sat down abruptly on a boulder, breathing heavily, her face flushed and sweating.

  ‘You need not have feared. I’ve known the waters of the bay since childhood. They would not take me.’

  ‘That’s what Mererid and Seithininn thought,’ she said crossly, frowning at Haith, taking in the fact that neither of us were wearing shoes.

  ‘Mererid and Seithininn?’ he asked, bewildered.

  ‘Lovers who drowned here and the whole court with them!’ she told him. ‘I thought you had business at the castle.’ Her tone was accusing.

  ‘Yes. I must go there now. I’m very sorry, Amelina, that we have made you anxious. You are hot,’ Haith said.

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘And bothered,’ I said, not inclined to be chided by my own maid. ‘So, did you give Dyfnwal his urgent news?’

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘That he is going to be a father,’ I said.

  Amelina and Haith both gaped at me in surprise. ‘Yes,’ she said.

  ‘You think I would bear,’ I hesitated at the count, thinking of my lost sons in Dublin, ‘so many children and not recognise the signs?’ I bent to kiss her cheek and Haith gave her his delighted congratulations.

  ‘We should take better care of you, then,’ he said.

  I lay in bed with Haith, staring into the cracking fire, sated with lovemaking. After a very hot summer and a fine autumn, the evenings were beginning to draw in again and I enjoyed the sense of secret enclosure with him. ‘Tell me about your homeland, Haith.’

  ‘Flanders?’

  I wanted to watch his mouth move, to hear his voice.

  ‘Hmm. Well, it’s long time since I been there. Was a small boy when I left.’

  ‘But you remember something of it?’

  ‘For sure. Remember how all life was about wrestling with water.’

  ‘Because of flooding?’

  He nodded. ‘We had to always dig. Digging ditch to direct water, digging peat to burn and stay warm. Made embankments, dams, dikes. Shored up pold
ers with planks, layers of seaweed and reeds.’

  ‘What did the land look like?’

  He pursed his mouth, thinking, remembering, and I smiled to myself at the sight of it. ‘Peat mires, waterlogged and decaying plants and trees, lagoons, dunes, salt marshes, small streams fanning out, shallow lakes and swamps. During wet seasons great areas stood under water. Waterbirds came, delighted to find land turned to lake, make them new homes, but our homes washed away, were damp, inundated, everything always leaking and seeping.’

  ‘You experienced bad flooding?’

  ‘Yes. It’s why we had to leave in the end. My mother had to send me and Benedicta away. No choice. We had nothing left. No home. She had worked for Queen Matilda, Henry’s mother, and she wrote to ask for help. Queen took me into her household as playmate for Henry. Gave me education. She sent Ida, my little sister,’ he said, smiling sadly, ‘to the abbey at Almenêches. Maybe I cried as much water over that as floods,’ he said, the smile-lines of his face crinkling. I traced the lines like the bird’s claw with the tip of my finger.

  ‘Ida?’

  ‘It was her name before they made her a nun, made her Benedicta.’

  ‘Were you afraid when it flooded?’

  He nodded again. ‘For sure. There were many strong storms.’ He waved his hands to imitate the maelstrom. ‘Storm-driven waves, wind-driven water, whipping sands, high tides crashing on shore, constant rain. Devastation and despair of floods. All our endeavours washed away.’

  ‘Your description is making me feel waterlogged!’ I exclaimed.

  He laughed. ‘Yes, the water wolf stalked the land. We tried to tame but never could vanquish that wolf.’

  Haith had to make a journey to Carmarthen, and when he returned he came with bad news. He had received a summons from Henry in Normandy where rebellion was brewing with Henry of Eu and Stephen of Aumale, who were now both supporting William Clito’s claim. He read the letter from Henry to me telling of how conflict was building again with King Louis. Count Thibaut de Blois had taken King Louis’ ally, Count William de Nevers, prisoner and had been waging war against Louis. Amaury de Montfort had suborned William Pointel, the man whom King Henry had left commanding the garrison at Évreux. Pointel had betrayed the citadel to de Montfort. The Bishop of Évreux, Audoin, who was loyal to Henry, had been forced to flee. ‘The Bishop has vowed not to shave, until his cathedral is returned to him under the rule of Henry,’ Haith told me, looking up from the letter. We exchanged an amused glance at the thought of the dishevelled bishop with an overgrown beard.

  ‘If you must go,’ I said, ‘then I must have my tithes paid first.’ I led Haith up to my chamber and took him to my bed. Afterwards, we lay in a shaft of sunlight that sparked his hair, lit the beautiful curves of his face and neck.

  ‘Am wondering if there’s a solution to your concern of being eligible widow, Nest.’

  I raised my eyebrows.

  ‘Why not marry Sheriff of Pembroke?’

  ‘Marry you?’

  ‘Ridiculous idea, sorry.’ His face assumed a theatrical contrition. ‘Was thinking could protect you from unwanted marriage. Make no demands on you. Just thinking that.’

  I stroked my fingers deep through his thick golden hair, which was streaked with a few threads of white. ‘It’s a good idea,’ I said.

  He looked up, his eyes alight. ‘Truly?’ Then he grimaced. ‘King won’t be happy.’

  ‘He owes me happiness. He owes you happiness. I would not marry you, Haith, because I need a husband who makes no demands on me.’

  He grinned at me.

  ‘It would be because I love you.’

  ‘I will look for good time to speak with King about marrying you,’ he said. I tried to keep the frown from my face, suspecting that this request would not be well received by Henry.

  Haith had been gone from me only two weeks when I discovered that I was carrying a child. Amelina and I laid plans for me to conceal the pregnancy as it progressed. We let out the seams on my gowns so that they fell in voluminous folds to conceal the thrust of my belly for as long as possible, but the time came when this ruse would soon fail. I kept to my room for a month with a supposed chill and when the child was due we went to Dyfnwal’s cottage. I birthed him there and he lay in a cradle next to Amelina’s own small daughter. I named Haith’s son, Robert. He was big, pink and squalling. With enormous delight, I let him grip my finger with his angry little fists.

  When Amelina and I returned to Carew, we allowed everyone to assume that Robert was her child, a twin to her daughter. We sat together in my chamber when I fed him. There was a letter from Mabel FitzRobert waiting for me, telling me of the deaths of Queen Matilda and Robert de Meulan. The King, she wrote, had been unable to return from Normandy to be at the Queen’s bedside, but he had ordered and paid for candles to be burnt for her soul in perpetuity in Westminster Abbey. I knew Henry would be miserable at these losses and I sent him a letter of condolence. Although his relations with the Queen had been more business than love, I knew he had respected her, been grateful for her counsel and support. The conflict in Normandy must be severe that he had not returned to see her in her last illness, had not traversed the English sea to attend her burial.

  Soon after I received this letter from Mabel, another came from Elizabeth de Vermandois, Countess of Leicester. She confirmed my concerns for Henry, telling me that, with the rapid succession of deaths around him, he had told her, ‘my friends die and leave me, Elizabeth.’ She wrote to invite me to her wedding to William de Warenne.

  Amelina packed my best gowns carefully into a chest preparing for my journey to London. ‘Didn’t even wait for her husband to be cold in the ground then!’ she said, scandalised, and perhaps also intending some criticism of me.

  26

  A Murder of Crows

  Benedicta set her foot unsteadily back onto the soil – or the jetty at least – of Normandy. This voyage had been very rough and, even standing on land, she was shaky with the nauseating roll of the ship. Haith had written to tell her that the King commanded her to bring Mahaut to Breteuil. She had frowned over the letter. Usually such a command would come directly from King Henry’s chancery to Princess Mahaut and would merely mention Benedicta’s accompanying the Princess as a side issue. Furthermore, Haith had sent the letter in their customary cipher, which they generally only used for personal exchanges. Nevertheless, Benedicta had implicit faith in her brother and since he told her to bring Mahaut to Breteuil, that is what she was determined to do. She told the Princess’s ladies that it was a command from the King and ensured that they travelled with an adequate armed guard for the journey.

  The day after arriving on the coast of Normandy, Benedicta and Mahaut were barely restored from their sea journey before they had to suffer the different sort of shaking motion of many long hours on horseback. Despite the discomforts of travel, Benedicta revelled in a sense of adventure, in going to encounter something never known before, but, as twilight fell, her thoughts turned more gloomy. Robert de Bellême had recently died in captivity at Wareham Castle. Although she and many others had suffered from his actions, she felt some pity for the man – so proud and active and reduced to pacing a small room, helplessly, for the last years of his life. Had she been right in allowing her actions to condemn him to that?

  She was glad when they arrived at last at the fortress of Breteuil not long before full dark, exhausted and hungry, and she could leave her anxious thoughts on the road behind her. Haith greeted them in the courtyard and Benedicta saw Mahaut safely ushered to a comfortable room with her maid. Instead of receiving Benedicta in the hall, Haith suggested that she follow him to his private quarters.

  As soon as they were alone, she turned a questioning face to her brother. He pushed a fine, lion-shaped aquamarelle towards her across the dark wood of the table. A serpent undulated along the lion’s back to form a handle and a tail. She twisted the small tap in the lion’s chest and trickled water into a bowl, rinsing her hands. S
he slid a damp cloth over her face. ‘Do you mind?’ she said, tugging at her veil and when Haith shrugged, she pulled the constricting cloths from her head and ran the damp cloth around the back of her neck and under her chin. ‘It was terribly hot on the road.’

  ‘You and your golden head, looking like a harvested field under a late summer sun! You are an immensely welcome sight, Benedicta, and you will bring salve to the King.’ His face clouded at his concluding words.

  ‘What has happened, Haith?’

  ‘Take refreshments and brush the dust of the road away before you see the King and I will give you the details.’ There was misery in his face.

  ‘Are you well, Haith? Is the King injured.’

  ‘Not physically injured. He has need of you.’

  A servant knocked, entered, and set a bowl of thyme-scented pottage and fresh bread before Benedicta. She felt conscious of her naked head exposed before this unknown man. He bowed and left, closing the door behind him, the latch clicking into place.

  ‘Everything started to deteriorate again after William d’Evreux died and King Henry refused the county to Amaury de Montfort,’ Haith began. ‘Henry tried his usual tactics with the wedding of Hugh of Gournay’s daughter to Nigel d’Aubigny, thinking that would keep Hugh on our side, but his sister was no sooner married than Hugh walked out and declared himself in revolt against Henry, and others followed: Robert Giroie and Robert de Neubourg. It is Amaury, Benedicta, who has caused the sedition. Everywhere we look, in every direction, we see his animosity driving all towards chaos.’

  Benedicta nodded, keeping her gaze down, not able to trust her features with the mention of Amaury. The ability of that goldenhaired brother and sister – Bertrade and Amaury de Montfort – seemed almost magical in the way that they were so compelling for others – Bertrade leading the old King of France into such murky waters with the Church, into excommunication, and then Amaury ….

  ‘The King is in a bad state, Benedicta. I don’t know what to do. I’ve tried to keep it from everyone, hoping he can recover himself. It’s best if nobody knows of it, but it’s been three days now and there is no improvement.’