But in fact he made no offer to touch her — there was about him, she began to sense (somewhat uneasily, for such hold as she had over him might be important) — something a little different altogether. Could it possibly be that the girl at the drovers’ inn had a hand in this? To cover over her surprise — not to say some small chagrin — she launched upon an account of her adventure with the gang. ‘I’ve heard of it,’ he said. ‘And this rumour that they’ve appointed you leader — what nonsense is this?’
‘They would have it so,’ she said, off-handedly. ‘In your absence only, of course.’
‘I think you may safely count upon that,’ he said grimly.
‘And the Black Toby — did you hear of that also? How I drove him forth? — robbed him, single-handed, and forced from him a promise to remain out of our territory. You heard of it?’
‘I heard something of it, yes; and of the weapons you employed to achieve it.’
‘I achieved it by holding him up at pistol point from the chapel gallery.’
‘He has another version, it seems; and one that appears to entertain him greatly.’
‘He must say something, no doubt,’ she said, shrugging, ‘to account for his discomfiture at the hands of a woman.’
‘No doubt. Have any other gentlemen, may I ask, been similarly discomforted?’
‘Many others have been worsted: the mail coach, it’s true, got clear—’
‘Wounding you, one understands,’ he suggested, mockingly, ‘in your tenderest parts?’
‘If you know so much,’ she said, resentfully, ‘why do you ask?’ And she jumped to her feet and stood looking angrily down at him and actually a tear stood in her eye. ‘You’re not very grateful. I’ve worked, ridden, suffered—’
‘And all for me and my gang?’ He lay back, his slender legs outstretched before him on the sunny rock slab, feet negligently crossed. ‘All for love of us?’
‘Neither for you nor for them. I make no secret — to you at any rate — of why I do it; or for whom. What should I care for you and the rest of them? — riff-raff as you all are, cut-throat robbers and plunderers—’
‘Report says you rob and plunder with the best; and would cut a throat too, from all I hear — shoot to kill, at any rate.’
She shrugged. ‘I do what I must. And as you taught me, if you remember? I didn’t, before I knew you, go round holding men for ransom, selling my very life for gold—’
‘No,’ he said. ‘You were content to sell your body.’
She glared at him, speechless with rage; and only after a long moment spat out: ‘Ay — and to what a buyer!’
To her surprise he turned away his head before the glare of her eyes and said, almost sadly: ‘Why yes — you fared badly there.’ But he jerked himself to the present. ‘And how, if one may enquire, is our dear invalid?’
She moved sharply away from him, stood looking out over the lovely landscape spread below. ‘The wound was severe; I don’t know how much damage it’s done, I know nothing of these things. But he’s still very weak.’
‘Long may he continue so. For I warn you, Madam—’
She interrupted. She said almost piteously: ‘You mistake the situation. If he — if he loves me, I don’t even know it. He gives no sign.’
‘No doubt he stifles it; ever the little gentleman of honour. For he sees you as a married woman, no doubt, and there is still the Lady Blanche. He has his encumbrances also.’
She did not rise to his mockery; only stood with her golden head bent in the morning sunlight, the lovely face grown weary and sad. ‘You have never loved anyone,’ she said. ‘You don’t know what it’s like — to be so filled with it, possessed by it…’
‘God forbid!’ he said, roughly, and sprang to his feet, abruptly changing the subject. ‘Come, to business! You had better be on your way.’ He led the way back into the cave where, on the rock table, he had thrown down the rough bundle of his morning’s spoils. ‘You may have your share — keep it, hand it over to the gang, buy white roses with it for all I care; but it’s yours.’ And he tumbled the treasure out on to the rough surface of the rock and stood there appraising it: the small, round yellow-gold coins, the worked metal, the jewels glowing in the shaft of light from the cave mouth — ruby, sapphire, emerald, pearl… She stood staring down at it also, and said, because at the back of her mind something puzzled her: ‘Is this all?’
‘Is it all? It’s all they had, that’s certain. Is it not enough for you?’ He sorted out the money, put it aside, sorted out a third of the jewellery, twisted the rest back into its cloth, thrust the bundle into her hands. ‘I’ll keep the gold, it’s too hard for me, in my present position, to dispose of jewellery. This is yours.’
She pushed aside his hand. ‘I want none of it.’
‘Don’t want it? You’d have robbed her of it; I got in before you, that’s all.’ And as she persisted, he almost begged, growing kind: ‘Come, take it! I grudge you not a penny of it. I want you to have it.’
‘I’ll have none of it,’ she said.
He looked at her uncertainly; a little uncertainly laughed. ‘It’s because of Mifanwy? — my blue-eyed Mifanwy, who helped me relieve the lady of it. You think she should have it?’
‘I care nothing about her. No doubt she works for — love.’
‘Well, the—’ But now his brow grew black. ‘It’s that other one! It’s because it belonged to her, to the lady Blanche. Once before you refused these jewels, did you not? — flinging them into the mud for her to grovel for. And now…’ His eyes blazed. ‘Jealousy! Because it belongs to her, because he belongs to her — as by God you’ll find that he does, doting fool that you are!’ And with a swift, violent movement, he caught at her wrist, picked up the bundle and slapped it into her hand. ‘Come take it and spare me your maunderings, you sicken me! Take it — and then get you gone, vixen that you are and with your bright tail trailing in the slush of such sentimental vapourings as these…’ He gestured down the hill. ‘Go, get you gone! Whistle up your pony and be on your way! And within this week — for I’ll play the complaisant husband no longer to that whey-faced weakling of yours — have him on his feet and packed back to his mother; and go with him for all I care, for I’m sick of you.’ And he gave her a shove that sent her running and stumbling down the sharp hill, half out of control; and turned and went back into the cave, not waiting to see her go.
Running and stumbling, clutching the bundle to her breast — the bundle of Blanche’s jewels, emerald, sapphire, ruby, pearl…
Emerald, sapphire, ruby, pearl — no diamonds. Among her possessions, Lady Blanche Handley no longer numbered, it seemed, her diamond betrothal ring.
By mid-morning she was back at the Cwrt. ‘Let the men know that they needn’t ride tomorrow,’ she said to Dio, dumping the bag of jewels into his hand. A little lesson, she added piously, to be more wary in the future, of the so-called drunken indiscretions of gentlemen in plush breeches…
‘And Y Cadno deduced this also?’
‘Y Cadno? Do you know that I’ve been with Y Cadno?’
He laughed, shaking his great head. ‘You are yet very innocent, Madam Vixen fach; do you think we don’t keep an eye upon our treasure? Of course when we saw you safe into his company, we watched you no more.’
Oh, well… All the more reason… She went off to change and go in woman’s dress to David’s room. ‘No more laudanum,’ she said, taking the bottle from the nurse’s hand.
The girl was surprised. ‘The pain—’
‘Stimots,’ she said, using one of her new Welsh words. ‘Never mind.’ The pain in fact was no longer over severe, she had been in the habit of administering tiny doses now and again to dull down his interest in her goings-on outside the sick room. ‘You must be weaned of it,’ she said to David. ‘We must get you strong and fit to be moved from here.’
He looked at her with troubled eyes, more incapacitated nowadays, in fact, by the drug combined with too long confinement in bed than b
y the actual wound. ‘Has my ransom then been paid?’
She would not trouble him with details. One day it would all have to be told, somehow explained away — the Marchesa and her marriage, her present role at the Court of Foxes, all of it. But for now… ‘Rely upon me, I’ve spied out the land, I know it all. And the only hope is to escape.’
‘But if my family pays the ransom—’
‘They think that once you are safely home, you’ll start reprisals for your brother’s death.’
The clouded eyes looked back into hers; you could almost see the effort with which he willed his brain to function. ‘He’s gone. What use now is — revenge?’ He dragged it out slowly; he was very weak. ‘If my family — gave them a promise — no reprisals…’
No reprisals! Fools, stupid dolts and fools that they’d been, never to have thought of it! In return for David’s safe return home-no reprisals, now or ever on the part of the Tregaron family. The Fox could come back to his den, the gang would be freed of the threat that hung over them. But… She thought quickly. They would let him go; but what about herself? They would never take her word that in fact she was worth no ransom money, never let her get away until Y Cadno gave the word. And as for him… She remembered that night upon the moonlit road when she had told him all the truth about herself; the thrusting back upon her finger of the gold and ruby ring ‘where it belongs’, his words as she had fought off his kisses. ‘No use for you to struggle against it; or for me.’ She knew that love her, hate her — he would never let her go; above all never let her go to David of Llandovery, Lord Tregaron.
Once David was safely away she could ride out, of course… But no: had not Dio that very morning warned her, half teasing: she had been followed all the way upon her dawn expedition, spied upon, until they had seen that she met The Fox. And besides — to ride off alone, to try all alone to make her way back to London, a woman, unprotected… And meanwhile her lover would be once more united with his family; she was by no means certain that the absence of Blanche’s betrothal ring had any real significance — might he not, weak as he was, succumb to the weight of his responsibilities? She insisted therefore: ‘It’ll be best to somehow get away together—’
‘You and I?’ He seemed astonished.
‘Well, naturally. How could you ride alone even the few miles between here and Castell Cothi? And you wouldn’t know the secret paths—’
‘To Castell Cothi?’ he said stupidly.
‘Well, but naturally,’ she said again and with a touch of impatience. But she had caught the faint shadow of doubt that passed across his face. She amended stiffly: ‘If you will receive me there.’
‘But of course,’ he said quickly. ‘Of course. You who have shown me so much kindness while I’ve lain here—’
‘I who’ve saved your life,’ she said, bursting out with it almost fiercely. And she thought with despair: But what do you know of all that? — dulled, unconscious as, most of the time, you’ve been. Of how I held you, wounded, in my arms with your dead brother lying by my side, staunching the bleeding until my arm ached with the pressure; how I brought you down through the dark forests, forcing these rough, angry men to my will; sacrificing my own chances of escape. How since then I’ve conquered them, offering my very body up to a stranger to gain my ascendancy over them; surrendered all my girl’s ways, grown rough and crude, hunted and robbed and for all I know to the contrary killed… A little ladylike nursing, a few kindly cheering-up visits — if upon these she must rest her hopes of a welcome in his family, the outlook was not hopeful. ‘I wouldn’t trouble you,’ she said coldly, ‘but where else have I to go? How am I to get back, unaided, to my house in London which is all I can now call home?’ It’s his mother, she thought. A fine welcome this great lady is likely to hand out to me, after the tales Miss Blanche will have told her of our meeting at the plundered coach! On the other hand… ‘If it’s the presence of your betrothed that troubles you,’ she said, more coldly still, ‘I may as well inform you that Lady Blanche has gone back to London. She’s left Carmarthenshire.’
He seemed astonished; perhaps that she should leave Wales while he lay wounded here in the hands of a gang of desperadoes. ‘Blanche gone back home? Are you sure?’
‘Well — yes,’ she said ironically. ‘I have reason to believe it’s true.’
‘And leaving me no message?’
‘No billets doux have arrived, certainly, nor any powdered footmen with enquiries after your health. But…’ She dropped to her knees at his bedside. How much would he care? If he were to find his betrothal ended — how much would he care? She had sat with his hand in hers, had crooned over him, rocking him in her arms when the pain was sore — but had she been to him just the tender nurse? What in fact — but for that long ago exchange of glances, that long ago touch of the hand — what had he ever said or done that should suggest that it was not Blanche whom in truth he loved? After all, she thought, they were betrothed, he was to have married her… He lay back against the pillow, soft scented hay wrapped round with soft scented linen, his aching arm bandaged across his aching chest, fair hair rumpled, brown eyes still clouded, and she crouched beside him, pitying, piteous, weak with mingled hope and dread. ‘If you were to find — if you were to find that she had after all left you a message…? If you were to find that she’d left behind her in Wales, your diamond betrothal ring…?’
She thought he had fainted. He lay so long silent that she grew frightened, began to stammer out that she couldn’t be certain, it was only that the ring hadn’t been among the jewels that she… She stammered and blundered, remembered the dimly glowing heap in the darkness of the cave on Twm Shon Catti’s mountain peak, lit only by its ray of sunlight… ‘If you were to hear that — that while she was in Wales Blanche hadn’t — been wearing your ring…’
And he opened his eyes at last and put up his good arm and pulled her down close to him; and she lay across the low bed and held his thin hand against her kisses, all the wild gold floss of her hair spread over it; and burst into a storm of too long dammed-up tears.
She opened up the great subject that very day at the evening meal; sitting in the Fox’s place at the head of the long, rough dining-table with the men of the gang, and, stuffing down a great plateful of roast (stolen) mutton, threw her thunderbolt. An agreed price for the ransom to be demanded from the Tregaron family; and an undertaking of — no reprisals.
No reprisals! Dio dropped his knife with a clatter and clutched with his great hands at his thatch of hair. As always his first thought went to his leader. ‘Y Cadno could return—’
Sam the Saddle, ever inimical to Dafydd’s cause, protested. ‘No such promise would be kept. The moment they had him safe—’
‘No, no, Sam bach, you don’t know these great folk. They have their codes,’ said Dio, ‘as strict as our own. They pride themselves on their “honour”, they’d never break their word.’
‘ “Extorted under duress”.’
‘No, Sam, Dio’s right,’ said Gilda. ‘These are people who would — would stake half a fortune, none knows it better than I, upon whether a woman carried this bunch of flowers or that: and pay up without a murmur, though there’d been no bond, no witnesses, nothing but a lightly spoken word. Let them give this promise and you’re safe; and the Fox is safe.’ She played her ace card. ‘Do you want him on the run for ever? What else but this can ever bring him back?’
Dio waited for no more. ‘A show of hands on it!’
She watched, exultant, as the arms were raised. ‘We’ll compose a message today,’ she said, wasting no more time. ‘Teg the Corn will deal with it from Caio. The money will be sent by return, never fear for that…’
And two days later, it came: and the promise with it. They were grouped in the great hall, lounging there, singing; the women on benches, leaning back against the tapestry-hung rock walls, the men sprawled on the floor against their knees, whittling at wooden bowls or spoons or thumb-sticks, as they sang. Outside, the
rain fell steadily, the soft grey mist of Welsh valley rain; within, the lovely voices rose, untrained, untaught, but strong and true, the almost universal national heritage. She leapt to her feet, waving the letter. ‘What did I tell you? She pays — and promises.’
Half the gold was there; the rest would be paid directly upon the return of Lord Tregaron, safe and sound. ‘And that can be tomorrow. I’ve thought it all out. He’s been up out of bed, exercising, getting back his strength. Not fit to ride, but there’s the coach that brought me here and the horses — he’ll do well enough, being driven. I’d best go with him, lest his wound break down—’ voices rose in protest, but she finished hurriedly — ‘and will return as soon as he’s safely home, bringing the rest of the money, and the coach and horses with me.’
‘And your own ransom also, doubtless, in your hand,’ suggested Catti. Catti, ever devoted to her leader, still viewed with suspicion, Madam Vixen’s feeling for Dafydd of Tregaron.
The men laughed but upheld her. ‘No, no, Madam fach, you go not forth upon so silken a tether as that,’ said Huw the Harp, grinning.
‘Is it my fault if my ransom delays?’ An idea came to her. ‘If I were to go with Lord Tregaron to his home, might they not advance my share, relying upon me to pay it back to them later?’
‘What, the Vixen leave her den?’ said Huw Peg Leg, ‘—and the Fox not here to permit it?’
‘Huw’s right, Madam Vixen,’ said Dio. ‘We can’t let you go-’
‘I’ve said I’ll come back.’ She put on an injured look. ‘You repay with little trust one who has led you so faithfully and well. Haven’t I fought with you, dared with you—?’
‘—bled with us,’ cried a voice, and the laughter redoubled.
‘Well, and risked a worse wounding, I, a woman — do you think I haven’t suffered, been in dread, terrified—’
‘Come, come, Madam Vixen fach, you’ve loved every minute of it,’ said Dio. ‘Don’t try to cozen us. You stay here till Y Cadno comes back and says otherwise; which may be soon enough even for you, if he trusts to this promise. Then if he will, he may release you.’
Court of Foxes Page 17