The Devil's Diadem

by Sara Douglass

  ‘How far has the plague stretched?’ I asked, anxious to deflect the earl’s anger.

  Ghent had subsided after looking at the earl’s glowering face and it was left to d’Avranches to answer. ‘Apart from a few minor deviations,’ the garrison commander said, ‘the plague has spread in a line from Dovre westward through to Wales. It entered Wales through the Usk Valley here,’ now his finger pointed to the valley which Pengraic Castle overlooked, ‘and then deeper into Wales once it had struck here.’

  ‘How deep into Wales has it gone?’ I asked.

  ‘I am not sure,’ the earl answered. He had relaxed again, and I dared another look at him. ‘We know it struck Pengraic and Crickhoel, and there have been reports of a few cases further west along the valley at Tretower and Penpont, but beyond that … those are lands controlled by Madog ap Gruffydd, and as yet we have not heard any rumour, let alone fact, of what has happened in his dark valleys.’

  I had to think for a moment. Madog ap Gruffydd? Then I remembered the privy meeting I’d attended with the king and his earls. Madog was the Welsh prince against whom the Marcher Lords stood.

  ‘Praise sweet Jesu,’ I said without thinking, ‘that Madog chose not to attack while this castle lay helpless!’

  All three men looked at me, d’Avranches swivelling about to cast his narrowed eyes in my direction.

  My face flamed, and I felt the fool.

  ‘Maeb makes a good point,’ the earl said, slowly, consideringly. ‘The last I heard, in late spring, was that Madog had moved from the northern to the southern regions of his territories. If he had been able, he might not have resisted a tilt at this castle. Mayhap the Welsh have, indeed, been struck as hard as we.’

  He continued to regard me, eyes lost in thought, and I breathed a little easier, grateful that I had not made such a fool of myself at all.

  ‘I wonder how far into Wales the plague spread,’ the earl muttered. ‘How far it looked …’

  I returned to my stitching, Evelyn checking on me every now and then to make sure I had not overly tired myself, and the men continued their discussion a while longer. Eventually Ghent and d’Avranches bowed to the earl, and left.

  The earl rose and came to my side, looking down at my stitching.

  I folded my hands, the work concealed within.

  ‘You went to the chapel yesterday,’ the earl said. ‘I did.’

  ‘Owain tells me you walked back to the solar.’

  ‘With Owain’s aid. I needed to lean on him heavily.’

  ‘Then, Maeb, lean on my arm and climb with me to the roof. Fresh air will brighten your cheeks.’

  I put my stitching to one side and took his arm. I had resolved to be more woman than girl, and to walk forward with more confidence, but this closeness with the earl was disconcerting for I did not know what he wanted.

  Also, I was afraid that if I returned to the roof all I would think of was Stephen, and I might not be able to control my tears.

  I did not need to worry about the memories of Stephen. The roof of the great keep was bright with sun, and redolent with the scent of cut meadow hay wafting up from the river. We walked slowly in silence about the northern wall, stopping midway to lean against the parapet and look over the inner bailey and the garrison to the north.

  Everything was ordered and settled once more. There was not the bustle I recalled from the days before the plague, when many hundreds had lived within the castle, but the chaos and dismay that followed when the plague had gripped the castle had now disappeared. Horse lines — thick with horse once again — were securely tied, and the horses settled with hay and water to hand. A group of knights practised their swordplay at the northern end of the bailey, their shouts and occasional guffaws of laughter reaching us even at the top of the great keep. Owain pottered about his herb garden, which once more bloomed and buzzed with bees. Two men picked cabbages and leeks in the garden against the eastern wall of the castle. A messenger, dressed in the earl’s livery, trotted his horse to the main gates, spoke briefly with the guards, then vanished through the wicket gate.

  ‘How strange,’ I said softly, ‘that normality resumes so easily.’

  ‘Normality is always an illusion,’ the earl said, ‘and one relatively easily maintained, for all wish to believe in it.’

  ‘How many have returned, or been replaced?’ I said. ‘When the plague was at its height, so many died, and more fled.’

  ‘If any of those who fled,’ the earl said, ‘dare to return then they know I will have their balls sawn off with a blunt blade and fed to the dogs. But as to your question, the garrison is now a little more than a third manned, and more men arriving from lands to the north of England every day.’

  ‘You have lands in the north of England?’

  ‘I shall have a map drawn, as you delight in them so much, with all my lands marked in scarlet that you may wonder at your wealth.’

  There was a marked edge to his voice, and I spoke no more of his lands. ‘It is so strange,’ I said, ‘to wake each day and remember that I am alive. I should have died.’

  He did not respond, and I stole a glance at his face. The earl was looking northward, far beyond the castle, to the peak of Pen Cerrig-calch. There was a look almost of yearning on his face, and I wondered at it.

  Here in the strong sun, his face seemed more lined than ever, but paradoxically less old. There was a vitality there, I realised, that I had not appreciated before. I wondered how old he was, and quickly deduced from what I knew of the earl’s age when Stephen was born, and how old Stephen was, that the earl was some thirty-five or thirty-six years of age. Well past youth, but not yet the old man I had always thought him.

  ‘Did Stephen bring you up here?’ the earl asked, and I realised with a start he was looking at me.

  ‘Yes,’ I said, ‘and once to the roof of the northern keep at night.’

  ‘And why did he do that?’

  ‘He wanted to show me the castle at night,’ I said. ‘He told me of the old legends about this hill, of the ancients who believed it sacred. He wanted to show me …’

  ‘He wanted to show you what?’ the earl said softly.

  ‘Sometimes, he said, in the illusory moonlight one might see dancers where now stands a castle.’

  ‘And did the illusory moonlight perform for you its tricks?’

  I tilted my head. Maybe, maybe not. ‘Perhaps I was asleep, in the lateness of the hour and my tiredness. Maybe I dreamed.’

  ‘What did you see?’

  ‘I dreamed I did indeed see dancers on this rock on which the castle now stands. They danced about a man with light on his head. And there were tens of thousands of people holding torches, lining that ridge, and that, and that,’ I said, pointing. ‘But it was an illusion, no doubt.’

  ‘Doubtless. I am a man of the sun. Stephen was always lurking about in the moonlight.

  ‘Yet,’ the earl continued, ‘I, too, dream of such things …’

  ‘What things?’

  He was looking to the peak of Pen Cerrig-calch again. ‘Of dark things, Maeb. Of the never-ending screams of hell, and of the Devil, come to snatch me. I dream I will lose everything I have ever worked for. Lose it all, to hell.’

  I was horrified. ‘My lord! You surely have no need to fear the Devil!’

  ‘You have no idea what I have done in my lifetime. No idea of what alliances I have made. No idea at all.’

  I did not know what to reply. His face had closed over, become rigid and unknowable, and I felt a shiver run down my spine.

  Then he blinked, and turned his eyes from the mountain to me. ‘I have frightened you, Maeb. Ah, I am sorry for it, for I should not have spoken the meanderings of my thoughts aloud. Forgive me.’

  ‘Done, my lord.’ Yet still I had to repress the desire to take a step backward, to remove myself from him, just a pace or two. I realised we stood right against the parapet and that with a twist or two of his strong arms he could dash me to the ground below.


  ‘Did you love Stephen?’ he asked, once more looking over the inner bailey. ‘Speak the truth, for I will know otherwise.’

  ‘Yes.’ I could barely speak the word, so wary was I of the earl right now.

  ‘Did he speak of me on his deathbed? Again, speak truth only.’

  ‘No,’ I said. ‘He spoke of Edmond, and of the honour Stephen had at spending his youth within the king’s household.’

  ‘You have a harsh tongue for truth, Maeb.’

  ‘It was what you asked for, my lord.’

  I had taken that step back now. ‘Do you think to use me to return to the king’s court, and the king’s regard?’

  ‘How can that be?’ I said. ‘It was not I who proposed this marriage.’

  His mouth curved in a small smile. ‘No, it was not.’

  ‘My lord, I am walking into a marriage that I think you have constructed to punish me.’

  ‘It is not meant to punish you.’

  ‘The deaths of Stephen and Rosamund and John will always lie between us, forever keeping us cold and distant if I cannot find your forgiveness for what I did. It was such a sin, my lord, I know it, but I would do it over again. They suffered so much. Stephen —’

  ‘I have never blamed you for their deaths, Maeb. I blame myself. If only I had not taken the path I have … if only I had returned a day or two earlier … if only …’

  ‘You could not have saved them, my lord. No one could.’

  ‘They should not have died!’

  I said nothing, but took yet another surreptitious step away. ‘They should not have died,’ he said again, much softer now, striking softly at the top of the stone parapet with his fist. ‘Their deaths were an arrow meant for my own heart. As yours was also meant to be.’

  I did not understand his words. ‘My lord, Stephen dreamed as he died. I had the same dream.’

  ‘What dream?’

  ‘My lord, it was terrible. We both dreamed that the Devil came for us. A giant, hulking, monstrous presence. Sir … I have not the words to describe the terror I felt, and which Stephen doubtless felt, too.’

  ‘I know of it, Maeb. Continue. What did the Devil want?’

  ‘I do not truly know, my lord. He took me by the throat, and shook me, and demanded to know where it was.’

  ‘Where what was?’

  Tears came to my eyes as I remembered the terror of that night. ‘I don’t know! He just asked over and over, shaking me, where it was, what had I done with “it”!’

  ‘And Stephen had this dream, too?’

  ‘Aye. His was worse, I think. And after … after, bruising appeared on his throat, as if the Devil had caught him in the same way.’

  ‘Damn him, for so hounding my son! Did he truly think Stephen had it? He knew I would hear of this, and knew how cruelly it would wound me. Damn him!’

  ‘My lord?’ Now he spoke in riddled circles. ‘I speak nothing but the rantings of a grieving father.’ The earl leaned back against the parapet, looking thoughtful. ‘Some say, Maeb, that this plague is Devil-sent —’

  ‘That I can believe!’

  ‘Sent by the master of hell to seek something, something he has lost.’

  ‘Then I hope he finds it soon,’ I said bitterly.

  ‘Ah,’ said the earl softly, ‘mayhap we should not wish so hard for that.’

  ‘Why not?’

  He gave a shrug of the shoulders, then a small, cold smile. ‘What is this, Maeb? I swear a few minutes ago we were standing close. Now look at you. A half-dozen paces away. Do I frighten you so greatly?’

  ‘Very often, my lord. You say things I cannot understand, and I fear that you are always angry at me.’

  ‘You should not seek to understand me,’ he said. ‘You might not like what you discover. But to other, more delightful, matters. You are looking much better, Maeb. Perhaps the day after tomorrow we can speak the vows of betrothal. I see no reason to wait. Then shortly after, we may marry.’

  I tried one more time, simply to quiet my mind. ‘My lord, why me? You could have the choice of any noble lady. You could pick up wealth and estates and alliances simply by riding your way to court and snapping your fingers at those highly ranked women looking for a husband. Why me?’

  ‘Have I not said enough, Maeb? You are a woman, and I need a wife. If you want more, then I will say that you are a lovely woman, and it will be no trouble on my part to bed you. Is that enough for you? If not, then I regret it, for there is nothing more to say. Now, take my arm and do not be afraid. I will see you back to the solar, where I will set you back in your chair and you will be safe once more.’

  There was just a little amusement in that last, so I stepped forward and took his arm, and the earl saw me safe back to the solar.

  Chapter Six

  I sat up late into the night, stitching the earl’s gift, hoping it would be good enough to please him. The earl had set the date for our betrothal for the day after tomorrow, Saint Swithun’s Day, and I needed to have the gift finished. Evelyn and the two other women were making good progress on the kirtles and chemises. All would be ready. From Saint Swithun’s Day I could be a reasonable apparition of an earl’s betrothed.

  I still had fears regarding the marriage, and the earl’s motivations for it, but I tried to set them to one side. I had little choice in the matter and only hoped that I should not be a wife to embarrass my husband, his name, or his titles and influences. I had always wanted marriage, I had always wanted a good marriage, and now that I had moved past my startlement at how good a marriage I would make, I resolved to do my best.

  While I sat up late stitching, remembering what had happened on the roof of the great keep (were all the stranger days of my life to be delineated by rooftop conversations?), I prayed to the Blessed Saint Virgin Mary to guide me, as also to the departed souls of Stephen and Lady Adelie. I prayed to Stephen for his forgiveness, and hoped that from his place in heaven (where surely he must be) he would not think I had stepped on his dead back to reach the higher prize of his father. To Lady Adelie I prayed for guidance in my life ahead, as also forgiveness for what I had done to her children, and that I was to take her place in her marriage bed.

  I stitched prayer and hope into my gift for the earl, and wished that he would accept the gift in the spirit in which I stitched and gave it.

  Saint Swithun’s Day dawned clear and bright, a good omen for the day, and my new life, ahead.

  The betrothal ceremony was to take place in the solar in the late afternoon (I should have to wait all day!) and then there would be a celebratory feast in the great hall of the castle. I still had not attended an evening dinner in the great hall (let alone a feast), as Lady Adelie had never done so. Then the plague had struck and in the chaos of its aftermath and my own feebleness, I had not been to any of the dinners in the hall hosted by the earl. I was looking forward to the evening feast, if only because then I could relax after the high nerves of the betrothal ceremony … but even then that feast held traps and fears as I remembered how I had only barely avoided disaster during the feast I’d attended at Rosseley Manor.

  The betrothal would be my first public act as countess-to-be. I did not want to spoil it with some unwitting muddle on my part. I drove Evelyn to irritation by my constant questions about protocol, what I should say and do, when I should smile and when not, and what rank, in courtly terms, did a woman of no rank but soon-to-be of high noble rank hold between betrothal and formal marriage? Who should I dip in courtesy to after betrothal but before marriage, and who not?

  We spent the morning in my bathing and the protracted business of washing my hair. It was so thick and long that it took Evelyn, together with Sewenna who arrived to help as well, most of the morning to wash, dry and anoint it with rosewater and sweet smelling herbs. When it was fully dry and combed out it was so glossy, soft and thick I thought I would never manage it.

  Should I wear it loose as befitted my virginal state?

  ‘No,’ said Evelyn, ‘leave that
for the marriage mass.’

  Then what?

  Evelyn was grinding her teeth by this point, I am sure. In the end we decided to comb the mass of hair over my right shoulder, loosely plait it down to my waist, then leave the hair to flow free again down to my knees, securing the loose plait with a length of black ribbon that exactly matched my hair. Sewenna went down to Owain’s herb garden, found some purple and scarlet flowers, and we wound those through the plaited section.

  The flowers matched the purple and scarlet in the embroidery about the neckline and sleeves of the emerald silk kirtle. This kirtle was so fine, so beautiful, that I had to be persuaded to wear it. I thought I would feel more comfortable in the plainer scarlet woollen day kirtle, but Evelyn would not hear of it.

  ‘You will wear the green,’ she said.

  ‘I should save it for the wedding,’ I responded.

  ‘We will have something finer for you by then,’ Evelyn said, winning the argument.

  Finer than this emerald kirtle? I could not imagine it. But I allowed Evelyn and Sewenna to lace me tightly into the silk kirtle. I had lost much weight over the past few weeks, and the slender, richly dressed figure in the mirror left me speechless when first I looked.

  I could barely recognise myself.

  ‘You need jewels,’ Evelyn said, ‘but I suppose they will come soon enough.’

  I thought jewels would overwhelm me, and was glad I had none. Evelyn had made a scarlet girdle, stitched about with the gilded golden thread, and she wound that about my waist and hips so that it emphasised the soft roundness of my belly.

  ‘You are very beautiful,’ she said. ‘Every knight, serving man and torch bearer will envy the earl tonight.’

  Then she smiled. ‘You still look like the wood dryad with that hair of yours and your green eyes.’

  I tried to smile back, but my nerves would not allow it. I was desperate not to misstep today and wished that somehow I could be transported instantly through the terrors of the afternoon and evening to the time when I could lose this finery and slip gratefully into bed and close my eyes against the day.