by K. M. Ashman
Since the battle at Mynydd Carn, Nesta had discarded the innocence of childhood and quickly grown into a strong young woman, passionate about her heritage yet obstinate when it came to the accepted rituals of life that were part of being a princess. Many courtiers came to Dinefwr, asking her father for permission to court his daughter but Nesta was nothing if not resilient and steadfastly turned them all down, knowing deep inside that she was destined for greater things.
However, the protection she had taken for granted had disappeared when her father had died. The original treaty between Rhys ap Tewdwr and William the Bastard became invalid, and seeing an opportunity to expand its reach into South Wales, the English Crown immediately sent its forces into Deheubarth and northward along the coast to Pembroke.
Gwladus had complained bitterly, petitioning the king repeatedly, but as her army was relatively small and she had little influence, Rufus paid her no heed. Within a year, most of Deheubarth lay under English rule. Despite this, and in an effort to keep her allies quiet, Rufus allowed Gwladus to keep her castles at Dinefwr and Carew as well as enough lands to sustain her household, providing she offered no succour to the rebels rallying against him in mid and north Wales.
At first, Gwladus accepted the new way of things but soon it became clear that more than English eyes were cast in the direction of Deheubarth. Welsh nobles and rebels alike all took an interest in the kingdom without a king and soon, realising that Nesta in particular could become a figurehead around which a rebellion could grow, William Rufus decided it was too great a risk to leave such a prize in the hands of two women. Striking in the dead of night, a column of soldiers spirited Nesta away from Dinefwr, along with her mother, and took them to the Palace of Westminster in London.
After an initial period of stubbornness, Nesta realised there was no point in fighting against the inevitable and settled down into daily court life. The Palace of Westminster, once graced by no less than Edward the Confessor himself, was a sumptuous residence and more than suitable for any monarch. Westminster was spectacular. Its huge stone walls and beautifully designed tapestries put all other buildings to shame, and when she saw she even had her own sumptuously decorated quarters, the captivity became a little easier to take.
Nesta’s presence at the Palace of Westminster caused the English court more than a little worry. Her outstanding beauty made her a potential wife for any of the king’s nobles but her loyalty to Wales and fiery temper meant few had the mettle to take her on. Indeed, whenever she was introduced to a would-be suitor, she lost no time in belittling them with insults and promises that if they laid a single hand upon her, she would kill them while they slept. Many men kept their distance, not needing the trouble such a woman merited and though her stance earned her the anger of those close to the king, she steadfastly stuck to her position that she would only marry a noble of Welsh birth with lands within her homeland.
Gwladus, too, soon settled into court life. The loss of her husband in Brycheniog had taken its toll on her appearance and she had aged visibly in the year since his death. Her fair hair was braided and tied back under the dyed linen veil upon her head and a dark blue dress hung low to her ankles. She had grieved for her husband for many months and only the fact that she chaperoned Nesta at the castle gave her the strength to go on.
The rooms at the palace were warm and dry while the food was flavoursome and plentiful. Slowly, as the pain of Tewdwr’s death eased, Gwladus’s strength returned and for the past few months she had been strong enough to share her daughter’s walks.
‘The day is warm upon the skin,’ said Nesta, as they walked, her arm linked through that of her mother.
‘It is,’ said Gwladus, ‘and brings back fine memories of our walks in Dinefwr.’
‘The river was cleaner there,’ said Nesta, ‘this one stinks like a cess pit.’
‘The result of so many people living along its banks,’ said Gwladus. ‘Never have I seen so many people living in one place.’
‘I hate it here,’ said Nesta passionately, ‘and would return home in a heartbeat.’ This was not a new conversation but no matter how many times Gwladus offered her daughter comfort, Nesta remained angry.
‘Nesta, the times are changing and though I too long to return to the fields and forests of your youth, I suspect you are safer here, at least until the rebellion settles down. Since your father’s death, the south of Wales has been overrun with William’s forces and they build strongholds right across our country. I fear the days of freedom are disappearing and it is only a matter of time before our country is annexed.’
Nesta’s eyes flashed as she turned to her mother.
‘If I had my way, I would ride alongside those brave men and help drive the invaders out.’
‘Perhaps you would,’ replied Gwladus, ‘but you are here and you should make it work. Why don’t you grant audience to some of those nobles who send their interest? Who knows, there may be one or two who cause your heart to beat a little faster.’
‘I am not interested,’ said Nesta, ‘and what’s more, I hate the fact that I am on the receiving end of choices made for me. Why can’t I choose who I want? Am I not royal born?’
‘Come, Nesta, do not be naïve. It is exactly because of that reason we don’t enjoy the luxury of free choice,’ said Gwladus. ‘Your station could mean the difference of life or death for many men, for with the right marriage, allegiances are formed and wars avoided. Make no mistake, if your father was alive you would probably already be married to a man of his choice.’
‘But he isn’t alive,’ said Nesta, ‘and I resent any other man, be he English or Norman born assuming that privilege. I will decide when I am ready and not a moment sooner.’
‘Well.’ Gwladus sighed. ‘I hope that day is in the near future for if not, I suspect the king will sell you off to a minor noble, whether you like it or not.’
‘We will see about that when the day comes,’ said Nesta as they reached the end of the path.
‘So,’ said Gwladus as they retraced their footsteps, ‘I suppose you will be going to the banquet tonight?’
‘I have an invitation.’ Nesta sighed. ‘But if it is yet again for me to be paraded before withered old men desperate for a younger wife, I think I may feign illness and stay away.’
‘I hear Gerald of Windsor will be there,’ said Gwladus, ‘I believe he is to be given a reward for his continued victories against the rebels in Powys.’
‘Even more reason to stay away,’ said Nesta. ‘Why would I celebrate the successes of someone who sheds the blood of those I call kinsmen?’
‘Nesta,’ snapped Gwladus sharply, causing the girl to stop. ‘This nonsense has to come to an end sooner or later. The politics of men are above the likes of you and me, and even though they fight the men of our homeland you have to realise it is a situation out of our control. This Gerald is young, handsome and is a favourite of the king, even though he be English born. At least you would be back in Wales and perchance you could have a calming effect on him, perhaps even softening the severity of his rule. You would be a lady within your own manor in the lands of your youth. Surely such a prospect is worth considering?’
‘Mother, I realise you are worried about me,’ said Nesta, ‘but you do so needlessly. I know I have to choose soon and rest assured I will, but whether that is in the next few hours or the next few months, only God knows. Please stop upsetting yourself with worry for my future, it will take care of itself.’
‘At least come along tonight,’ said Gwladus, ‘if only for my sake. It will not be the same without you there.’
Nesta smiled. ‘If it means so much to you then I will – but on condition you don’t try to wed me off to every man in the room.’
‘If that is what is needed, then I promise,’ said Gwladus and they continued their journey back towards the castle. For a few moments there was a comfortable silence before Gwladus spoke again. ‘Though I do hear that Gerald of Windsor is very fair of face.’
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br /> ‘Mother,’ scolded Nesta, playfully pinching the skin on Gwladus’ arm. ‘Will you never cease?’
‘No, sweet child,’ responded Gwladus with a laugh of her own, ‘probably not.’
That evening, Nesta and her mother entered the grand dining hall and stood behind their seats opposite each other, as befitted their station. The other ladies present also took their respective places as they waited for the men to arrive. Every second seat was empty, waiting for a male occupant, for when the feast started the mixture of men and women would be equally balanced, an arrangement conducive to a pleasant atmosphere.
Despite her earlier indifference, Nesta was secretly intrigued as to who she would find on either side of her, and despite frowning at her mother she was actually looking forward to the evening’s proceedings.
The master of ceremonies announced the entrance of the men and a column of knights, lords and nobles entered the room before taking up the places between the ladies. Everyone sat down as they waited patiently for the king to arrive and Nesta took the opportunity to glance discreetly at the men next to her, pleasantly surprised to find both were equally young and neither had a face worthy of nightmares.
‘My lords, ladies and gentlemen,’ announced the herald within moments, ‘please be upstanding for his royal highness, King William the Second, by the grace of God, King of England and Duke of Normandy.’
Everyone took to their feet, and as the heralds blew a fanfare the king entered followed by his family and those nobles who were his closest advisors. As soon as he was seated, the rest of the invited guests followed his lead and within moments, a band of minstrels filled the air with delightful music.
Servants emerged from the doorways carrying silver decanters of wine and set about charging the beautifully engraved goblets while platters of copper and pewter were laid in front of each guest. Soon the hall took on a hum of conversation as people began to introduce themselves. Nesta found herself sat alone, staring across the table at her mother as each man alongside her introduced themselves to the woman on their far sides.
Gwladus caught her daughter’s glance and smiled encouragingly, much to Nesta’s annoyance, and she was about to make an amusing gesture when the man to her left spoke for the first time.
‘My lady,’ he said, inclining his head slightly, ‘please forgive me, I do not believe I have had the pleasure of your company before this night.’
‘Nothing to forgive, sir,’ replied Nesta cordially, ‘my name is Nesta ferch Rhys, daughter of King Rhys ap Tewdwr.’
The man hesitated momentarily before speaking again.
‘And would that be King Tewdwr of Deheubarth?’
‘I know of no other, but alas he was killed at the battle of Brycheniog.’
‘Ah,’ said the young man, his smile faltering, ‘then I am afraid fate has played a cruel trick upon us both this night and I hesitate to introduce myself.’
‘What situation prevents your introduction? Surely this is a night for merriment and, despite our obvious differences in nationhood, perhaps we can put them aside for one evening.’
‘In normal circumstances I would agree,’ said the man, ‘but I am honour-bound to declare myself. My name is Frederick De Bois, knight of Normandy.’
‘Well, I am very pleased to meet you,’ said Nesta holding out her hand, ‘let us be friends for at least one night.’
‘My lady,’ said Frederick, ‘I’m afraid you misunderstand. I am a knight of William and recently fought under the command of Bernard de Neufmarché in Wales.’
Nesta withheld a gasp at the sound of the familiar name and though she maintained her smile, it was false and cold.
‘Pray tell,’ she said through gritted teeth, ‘which conflict?’
‘My lady, I am sorry but I have to tell you that it was at the battle of Brycheniog.’
Nesta’s blood ran cold for whether it was deliberate or by chance, she was sat next to a man who had fought against her father on the day he and her two half-brothers had been killed.
‘I’m sorry,’ whispered the man, the anguish clear upon his face, but it was all Nesta could do to stop herself screaming and lashing out at his face. She swallowed hard, wondering how she could escape the room without causing embarrassment but before she could do anything, a light tap came upon her shoulder and a gentler voice broke the awkward moment.
‘My lady,’ said the voice, ‘if you would be so kind, please allow me to introduce myself.’
Slowly she turned around and stared unseeingly at the man sat on her opposite side.
‘My lady,’ he said again, taking her hand, ‘I am Gerald Fitzwalter of Windsor, first knight of William’s forces in Wales.’
‘I . . . I . . .’ started Nesta but she was lost for words; sitting between a man who may have played a part in her father’s death and a knight responsible for the siege of her entire country was too much to bear.
‘My lady, are you all right?’ asked Gerald, seeing the panic on Nesta’s face. But she simply stared back, her eyes unseeing as her mind slipped away, seeking the relative safety of nothingness.
The sounds of voices seemed leagues away as Nesta’s consciousness struggled to the surface. She felt a cold cloth on her forehead and slowly she opened her eyes to stare into the face of Gwladus.
‘There you are,’ said her mother gently, ‘for a moment we were a bit worried.’
‘What happened?’ asked Nesta, realising that she was no longer at the feast.
‘You fainted, my love,’ said Gwladus, ‘it seems the excitement was too much for you.’
‘I fainted at the banquet?’
‘You did, and this kind gentleman carried you into these chambers to recover.’
‘Hello, Nesta,’ said the man, his face appearing above that of Gwladus, ‘please forgive me for laying hands uninvited upon your person, but I thought you may be a bit more comfortable out here, the heat was rather oppressive in the hall.’
‘Thank you,’ said Nesta, as her mind started to clear, ‘you were the man sitting to my right.’
‘I was, and in case you don’t remember, my name is Gerald Fitzwalter, more commonly known as Gerald of Windsor.’
‘I remember,’ said Nesta, ‘overlord of William’s army in Wales.’
‘I am indeed but please do not take it as a slight against your proud nation for I am a mere soldier doing what is instructed by my king. Your country is a wild and beautiful land, and already it has captured my heart as the place where I would see out my life.’
Nesta pushed herself up into a sitting position and accepted a cup of honeyed water from her mother. She looked up at the knight at her side, taking in his appearance. His hair was fair and his eyes a deep blue like none she had ever seen before. His features were strong and a scar on his right cheek spoke of a life of conflict in the service of the king. Despite the disfigurement, Nesta realised he was a naturally attractive man.
‘Pretty words, my lord,’ she replied after taking a sip of water, ‘yet you wage war against those who have lived there for generations.’
‘Such is the way of the world, my lady, but trust me when I say that I bear arms only against those who threaten me or my men. But come, if you feel well enough, perhaps we can continue this conversation in more comfortable circumstances.’
Nesta got to her feet aided by Gerald and her mother. They helped her to a seat against the wall and Gerald sat next to her, handing over the cup of water. Nesta sipped gratefully.
‘Will you be all right, dear?’ asked Gwladus. ‘I should return and make our apologies.’
Nesta stared at the man at her side. The fact that he was an enemy of her countrymen meant she did not anticipate any great pleasure in his company. But there was something about his manner that suggested it would not be the worst experience of her life. Besides, most of the guests were enemies of Wales.
‘You go back, Mother,’ said Nesta, ‘I will return in a few moments.’
‘Are you sure?’
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bsp; ‘Of course. If this gentleman is half the man his manner claims he is, then I have reason to believe he will ensure my safety in your absence.
‘Then I will leave you in his capable hands,’ said Gwladus. She turned to leave the chamber, a hint of a knowing smile around her mouth.
‘So,’ said Nesta, turning to Gerald, ‘if you are indeed responsible for waging war upon my people, what brings you to London?’
‘First of all,’ said Gerald, ‘I am not responsible for waging war, the responsibility for that lies with the king. I am, however, responsible for carrying out policies and actions on his behalf. Contrary to popular belief, we do not ride through your beautiful country slaughtering the innocents. Our weapons are drawn only in self-defence against men of war but unfortunately, the Welsh are a proud people and men-at-arms are quick to seek conflict. In such circumstances, am I not entitled to defend my own life and the lives of my men?’
‘But the land belongs to them,’ said Nesta feeling her anger rise, ‘and if you stayed whence you came then there would be no bloodshed.’
‘Nesta,’ said Gerald, ‘the forces of William, be they English, Norman or Flemish are simply a different target. The Welsh princes have spent generations fighting each other to no avail. Father fights son and brother fights brother. That is the way it is and the way it has always been. Surely you can see that if there was one king, whether he be Welsh or English, at the head of all nations, then this bloodshed would end and men could get on with their lives without fear of invasion or slaughter?’