Caitlyn Box Set

by Elizabeth Davies

  ‘He had better not be long,’ Idris warned. ‘High tide is almost upon us.’

  The light had a silver quality, a precursor to the gold of an early summer day, a promise of the warmth to come. Fishermen hurried to cast off, anxious to catch the tide before it turned, to use its strength to draw their vessels out to sea. The boats bobbed and strained at their ropes, sea-horses eager for the open water and freedom. My stomach rolled and my hunger turned sour as I considered the crossing ahead.

  Cai returned with three slices of cold mutton, three wrinkled apples and a carrot.

  ‘Just the one carrot?’ Idris asked, taking a slice of mutton and one of the apples. The mutton disappeared in one bite.

  ‘It was all he had.’ Cai held out my share, but I shook my head, and instead I untied the horses and led them to the trough to let them drink their fill. They had eaten well from the netted hay bags used to keep the blacksmith’s horses occupied whilst they waited to be shod. It was probably best that we left before the blacksmith discovered the loss of his feed and decided to charge us for their breakfast.

  ‘Uh oh.’ Idris called a warning.

  I stopped stroking Silver’s ears and turned, expecting to see an irate blacksmith, but Idris pushed me between two of the mounts.

  ‘Get down,’ he hissed at Cai, who sank behind a workbench, only his head showing above the top, and scanned the wharf. He whistled through his teeth at what he saw.

  ‘The innkeeper,’ Idris whispered, pointing, ‘and he has brought some friends.’

  A dozen men, the innkeeper in the lead, were searching doorways and shadowed corners at the far end of the wharf, stabbing at sacks of grain and clambering along gangplanks. They weren’t terribly thorough, but they didn’t have to be; three people and three horses did not have many options when it came to hiding. The men were armed with staves and pitchforks. One even had a short-sword. These weren’t fighting men, but numbers were everything, and there were more of them than us.

  ‘They must have discovered the loss of the comb.’ Idris frowned.

  ‘Er, it might not have anything to do with the comb.’ Cai turned red.

  ‘What then?’ Idris shuffled the horses to the side, keeping their big bodies between us and the ragged band searching the wharf.

  ‘I tupped his daughter.’

  ‘What!’ Idris and I said in unison.

  ‘I did nothing wrong, and she enjoyed it as much as I.’

  ‘Aye, looks like she enjoyed it so much she told her father.’ Idris clouted his son across the back of the head. ‘It is one way of getting her revenge. Please don’t tell me you seduced a virgin.’

  ‘Hardly! She knew what a man’s cock was for and where to put it.’ He reddened even further. ‘And she charged for her services.’

  Idris rubbed a hand through his beard. ‘You fucked a whore,’ he sent me an apologetic glance, ‘then stole from her. Unbelievable.’

  ‘You wanted me to get Lady Caitlyn’s property back.’ Cai’s voice rose in indignation.

  ‘Yes, but I didn’t know you were going to sample the girl’s wares.’

  ‘And I didn’t know she was the thief,’ Cai argued. ‘We all thought it was the innkeeper’s wife.’

  Idris sighed. ‘Never mind. What is done, is done. We have to go, before they come any closer. If we are discovered, we will be lynched.’ He turned to me. ‘Give me the comb. If we are caught, I will say I stole it and you knew nought of the matter.’

  ‘I cannot let you do it. I will not let you do it.’

  He ignored my protestations and held out his hand.

  ‘No.’ I could be stubborn, too.

  Idris didn’t linger to argue. ‘Let’s go. We have to get behind them.’ He grabbed the reins and led his horse around the back of the smithy. I followed and Cai fell into place behind me.

  Though the wharf was as busy as a market at noon, the rest of Chepstow had only just noticed the new day. Most people had yet to stir, though some were up and about, and the smell of baking bread and re-kindled fires wafted through the streets.

  Someone emptied the contents of a night-pot into the street, urine splashing down from an upstairs window like a sudden fall of yellow, stinking rain. I jumped back to avoid being spattered. At Llandarog we used a midden for our night-soil, not the street. Uch y vie! My mother used to say the exact same thing whenever she caught one of us children doing something disgusting. A bolt of grief so strong it almost sent me to my knees, shot through my heart.

  I stumbled. Cai rushed forward with a steadying hand.

  ‘It is fine. I am fine.’ The words came easy enough, but I had a hideous certainty nothing would be fine ever again.

  Idris turned back towards the river. I had seen its gleam on occasion at the end of a street or alley, and now we aimed for it once more, emerging at the southern end of the wharf. Our pursuers must have started at this end and worked their way northwards, and it would not be long before they ran out of wharf and retraced their steps – if they weren’t already doing so. The bend of the river hid our smithy from sight, and for the moment we were safe, as long as we boarded a ship soon.

  Idris scanned the boats. When I saw what he had chosen, my heart sank. It was not a ship, nor even a boat. He had picked a flat platform made of planks of wood lashed together with green-slimed rope, and held afloat by several air-filled sheep’s stomachs which were attached along the sides of the craft. The whole thing resembled a floating table top, albeit a large one.

  Idris threw his reins to Cai and went to talk to a weather-beaten, grey-haired man who waddled around the “boat” on bowed legs. A short conversation, several looks shot in my direction, a calculating stare from the one man, and waving arms from the other, and a deal appeared to have been made.

  ‘The ferry-man has agreed to take us,’ Idris said, reclaiming his horse’s reins.

  I wished he had not made such a bargain. I think I preferred to remain on this side of the river and take my chances at evading capture.

  ‘Can the horses not swim across?’ I guessed the answer to be “no” before I asked, but felt compelled to try.

  ‘Why get wet when there is a perfectly good ferry?’ Idris said.

  He must think me addle-witted for such a suggestion, but the ferry did not appear perfectly good to me. It needed sides to it, like the ones on a proper boat. Sides to stop a body from falling off. Sides to stop the waves washing over the slippery wood and sweeping whatever stood on its deck into the dirt-brown waters.

  ‘Anyway, you cannot cross by any other means at this point,’ he added. ‘The mud is too deep and will suck a person down in a heartbeat. You either cross by boat or you do not cross at all.’

  Not crossing very much appealed, in spite of the innkeeper and his friends.

  ‘You are happy enough to sit on a horse to ford the river, yet you will not stand on a ferry?’ he teased.

  ‘A horse can swim. I cannot.’

  ‘Hush, my lady. Do not be afeared. I will not let you drown.’

  ‘How will you prevent it, with your chain mail and boiled leather? You will sink like a stone.’

  ‘I do not intend to fall in.’

  Cai urged the stallions forward and I reluctantly tugged at Silver’s bridle. Either she found the river as repellent as I did, or I had somehow communicated my fear to her, for her eyes rolled and she danced back when I led her towards the water, pulling on her reins.

  The stallions huffed and snorted their mistrust of the wharf beneath their feet, and Cai’s horse pawed the ferry and sniffed at it with suspicion before he allowed himself to be led aboard. Mine pranced and cavorted, tossing her head and whinnying her fear.

  ‘Hurry!’ Idris stared over my shoulder, his eyes narrow and his jaw hard. One hand went to the hilt of his sword.

  The innkeeper and his vigilantes spotted us. One of them pointed and let out a yell.

  Cai gave his reins to Idris and darted forward to help. Before I knew it, our positions had reversed and I
was standing on the vessel, holding the two destriers, as Idris, Cai, the ferry-man, and half a handful of assorted men pulled and shoved my reluctant little horse onto the ferry.

  ‘Cast off now!’ Idris shouted.

  The ferryman shook his head. ‘There are goods still to load.’

  Idris’ knife appeared in his hand and he held it to the other man’s throat. ‘I said now.’

  The old man’s eyes widened, his Adam’s apple bobbing as he gulped. Then he looked beyond me and his eyes widened further at the band of armed men running down the jetty.

  ‘Move!’ Idris yelled.

  He threw the other man to the side and dived to the back of the ferry. With two swift chops of his sword, he severed first one rope, then another. The ferry started to drift as the current drew it away from the jetty. I wobbled as the deck came alive, and I clung to the destriers’ bridles for balance. Silver was wedged between the bigger horses, their reins lashed to hers, and only their stoic strength prevented her from losing her footing. Both stallions stood with their legs braced, but Silver tottered and teetered, barely able to keep her feet. The mare’s head drooped and she trembled as though her coat crawled with flies, the whites of her eyes showing large on her dished face, uttering small calls of distress through extended nostrils.

  ‘God’s blood, you’ll get us all killed. To the oars!’ the ferryman shouted, and another man rushed to the paddles and thrust them in the water. The boat turned, unwieldy and reluctant.

  Slowly and with much grunting and straining of wiry muscles, the craft inched its way toward the centre of the river. I groaned when the bite of the current took hold, threatening to drag the flimsy raft out to sea, and cried aloud at each wash of the waves surging over the bobbing, dipping wood.

  The craft shuddered.

  ‘It takes four to man her!’ The ferryman’s voice was pitched high with fear. ‘We must turn back.’

  The innkeeper and his friends stood on the jetty, yelling and waving their make-shift weapons.

  ‘They are thieves,’ one of them called.

  ‘She’ll hang for it,’ another shouted.

  Me? They meant me? They were going to hang me? My mouth dried and my palms grew hot, in spite of the cold, drenching spray.

  ‘Over my dead body,’ Idris muttered.

  The ferry spun. I screamed as the deck pitched and yawed.

  ‘Row! For God’s sake heave, if you want to live,’ the ferryman cried.

  Cai threw himself behind the ferryman and took hold of an oar. Idris launched himself towards the opposite side and both men rowed, muscles bulging, faces reddening as the four of them battled the current. Once more the fragile boat fought the river, steadied, and came about.

  Slowly, excruciatingly slowly, the far shore came closer. It was possibly less than two hundred feet away, but it seemed like two miles. When we, at last, drew close to the opposite shore, and men rushed to help haul the raft in, I could have kissed them. Never had I been so pleased to see grey-brown mud. Our pursuers had not attempted to follow us.

  We were safe.

  Chapter 8

  The tide was at its height, water washing across the jetty in rippling surges so most of the wood was half-submerged. As the barge bumped alongside its mooring and we disembarked, Silver objected to the swirl of wavelets around her fetlocks. She reared and skittered sideways, almost losing her footing on the slippery, wet boards. Scared anew, the mare bolted, dragging me with her.

  I clung to her reins, stumbling, fighting to keep my balance, as my legs worked furiously to stay upright. She dashed for solid ground and headed for the fields beyond the landing site, my dragging weight slowing her down.

  ‘You stupid animal!’ I screamed, barely managing to avoid her flailing hooves as I ran alongside her.

  Refusing to let go of the reins and risk losing her, I hung on with grim determination. The damned horse was going to tear my shoulders from their sockets, or else trample me underfoot.

  She had not managed to get more than a score of yards before Cai’s stallion barged into the mare, knocking us both sideways, and the air whooshed out of me in a grunt. I slammed into Silver’s haunches so hard, I feared I might have broken a rib. The mare stopped her headlong flight long enough for Cai to bring his horse around and grab her bridle. I let go and slumped to the ground, gasping like a line-caught trout.

  ‘Are you hurt?’ Cai called, his horse wheeling and turning as he fought for control over the smaller beast. The stallion, losing patience, bit Silver on the neck. She squealed in outrage, sitting back on her haunches to rear. He bit her again. This time she acknowledged his dominance and ceased her silliness, standing still, head hanging. Only her laid-back ears betrayed her annoyance.

  I was tempted to bite her myself.

  Forcing air into my shocked lungs, I turned to Cai. ‘Bruised only, I think,’ I said, making an inventory of my various pains. My ribs were sore but the ache was tolerable. Definitely bruised but not broken.

  A growing circle of onlookers, young and old, crowded around, their dirty faces alight with curiosity. Not one of them made a move to help, as I scrambled upright without any assistance, wincing at the ache in my side. A deep breath was uncomfortable but not too painful.

  Fearing she might bolt again, I unbuckled the saddlebags and draped the connecting leather strap around my neck. If I lost Silver, at least I wouldn’t lose everything. Another of my mother’s proverbs surfaced, something to do with many eggs and one basket.

  I mounted my reluctant horse, and trotted towards the village, which consisted of a handful of houses, a chicken coop or two, and a barn – and was that a tavern? I did not want anything more to do with taverns. Or horses. Or stupid planks of wood masquerading as a proper boat.

  ‘This is Sedbury,’ Idris said. ‘A mile or so south takes us to the end of the peninsula where we will board a boat for the crossing.’

  My face must have paled for he hastened to add, ‘A real boat, my lady. Not a raft.’

  Silver fell into step alongside him, deciding to behave herself now her hooves had solid ground under them, and I took the opportunity to look around me. The piece of land separating one river from the other was narrow, the Wye on my right and the Severn on my left, with a smudge of hills on the opposite bank clearly visible. The peninsula poked into the Channel like a bony finger, widening to a bulbous tip from which jetties and wharves jutted like the spokes of a wheel.

  ‘See the hills on the other side?’ Idris asked.

  I squinted into the grey distance. The Channel must be a mile wide at this point and there was no telling how far away those purpled mountains beyond the far shore could be.

  ‘Those are the southern tip of the Cotswolds.’ He pointed. ‘A few miles south are the Mendip Hills. We will pass between the two. Wulfstan’s lands lie beyond.’

  ‘How far?’

  ‘A couple of days, no more.’

  My heart lurched in trepidation. Wulfstan – finally – and the start of the next part of my life. I didn’t expect him to treat me as a queen and grant me all the privileges my past status demanded, but maybe there was a place of honour to be had, a role I could play in his household.

  Idris was right. The boat was a proper one indeed, with sides and a mast, though the sail was furled. It was a low-riding barge of a vessel, large enough to carry ten horses, though we were not its only cargo. A man pulling a handcart, a man of God on a mule, several bundles of rolled and tied fleeces, and a barrel or two were to accompany us on the crossing, waiting patiently to board.

  Cai’s horse took a dislike to the gangplank, and needed some persuasion to traverse its swaying boards, but Silver walked across with barely a flicker of an ear. My mare had learned her lesson, and I shot Cai a cocky look as he manhandled his stallion, hanging on to the horse’s bridle to keep its head low and stop the animal from rearing. He used the end of the reins to slap the stallion across his substantial chestnut haunches and the beast settled once he was on board, calmed
by the presence of the other two mounts.

  This craft was safer, despite the rocking and swaying, and the gurgling water under the helm, and the slapping of small waves against the hull. It had sides, proper ones, to keep us in and the water out. This boat was sturdy and the men handled her with quick efficiency, dancing to a well-practised tune as they prepared to cast off.

  I expected the sail to be deployed, but it was rowers who provided the power, not wind, four of them on either side. Once free of the jetty, the boat powered across the river.

  ‘They have to be fast,’ Idris said. ‘High tide lasts only for an hour or so, after which the waters become increasingly difficult to navigate as the tide sucks back out.’

  Cai peered over the side. ‘We are drifting downstream.’

  ‘The tide is overcome by the force of the river for the moment. We will probably aim for one of those jetties.’ He pointed at the far bank, on a diagonal course.

  I couldn’t make out any details, but trusted these sailors knew their trade.

  ‘What about when the tide comes in?’ Cai asked.

  ‘The incoming tide causes its own problems. It is said, that during the high spring tides a wall of water rushes up the estuary and into the river. As the Channel narrows, this wall grows higher until it is as tall as a man.’

  ‘Have you seen it, Father?’

  ‘Not with my own eyes, but a man I trust told me.’

  The water rushed past, the spray cold on my cheeks like forgotten tears. Mesmerised, I inched to the side, rolling with the movement of the deck under my feet, gripped the rail with firm hands and leaned forward. The depths were impenetrable, coloured brown with suspended silt, and nothing like the small, clear-running rivers of my homeland. Every now and again, a larger wave would break against the hull, and I scanned its foamy crest for evidence of fish. Or sea monsters. Or bodies.