And look what happened to Adelie. I could see it writ over his face. ‘It is winter!’ Raife said. ‘The roads will be icy and treacherous!’
‘Better than spring and the roads thigh deep in mud.’
‘By God, woman, you risk both yourself and the child on the way!’
‘Don’t you dare speak of God’s name to me,’ I said, low. Then louder. ‘I will go. Ghent can escort us and I have no doubt you will send a suitable company with us and coin enough to pay for us to sleep under cover at night.’
‘The plague is —’
‘We can avoid areas of the plague.’
‘And you want to drag Isouda and Gytha and Ella through this?’
‘They can come with me or not as they please,’ I said. ‘I shall not hold it against them if they do not wish to come.’
‘I will come,’ said Isouda.
‘And I,’ said Gytha.
I smiled, feeling as if there was some worth left in this world after all. ‘Thank you, my friends.’
Raife was furious. I could see it in the way he held himself and in the tightening of his face.
He was losing control of me.
Good.
He could see his damned diadem vanishing before his eyes.
Good.
‘I want to go home to Pengraic,’ I said, ‘and so I shall.’
‘Have you no idea what will follow you?’ he hissed.
The plague? I raised my eyebrows at him. ‘Then I shall save London, shall I not?’
He hissed again, then whipped about and struck a goblet so viciously it flew from its platter halfway across the room.
Even in their shadows I could see Gytha and Isouda jump. ‘I have said everything I have to say to you, husband,’ I said. ‘Please see to the arrangements, or at least allow Ghent to make them in your name.’
‘I asked you once to trust me,’ he said. ‘Now I ask it again.’
I was so furious I almost rose to strike him. He dared ask me to trust him? After what he had revealed?
After what he had hidden from me all this time? ‘And I have given you my answer,’ I said. ‘Now, will you aid your wife to return to her home, or shall I be forced to beg charity from Bretagne?’
He glared at me, then turned on his heel and stalked from the chamber.
I let out a soft breath of relief, both that he had gone, and that he had not struck me.
Pengraic. I would go home. I would have time and space there to think and reflect, to talk with Owain, and to birth this baby.
My husband allowed me to go. He had no choice, really, for to demand I stay in London when the plague approached and when I wanted to leave would have seemed … odd. Likewise I could not speak out to anyone of his true nature, because then the charges of witchcraft and murder would rise again as sure as the sun rises each morn.
He left all the arrangements in Ghent’s hands along with a goodly purse of coin to pay for what was needed. Poor Ghent. He was confused by the sudden iciness between the earl and myself. He did not like it, but he said nothing. All he did was his best, as he always did, and that best was more than good enough.
We left London four days later.
Chapter Three
We travelled in as small a company as possible. It was still deep winter over the south and middle of England and, with the spring crops a long way distant (and a bad harvest the previous year because of the plague), many places might find it impossible to offer food for a large group. What we ate might well mean hunger for someone else. Thus, together with myself and my three women (Ella was also happy to leave London) and Ghent, there were just nine horsed soldiers, and two grooms. We did not travel with any of the Pengraic household plate and linens that normally accompanied a countess or earl to and fro their abodes, but only our clothes and some warm covers. Pengraic had plate and linen enough for my needs, I did not require the gold and silver and pewter.
My husband the earl could keep it for his daily needs.
I travelled in a cart together with Gytha. I was too big with child now to ride safely, although I did insist Dulcette came with us. Tied to the back of the cart with a loose rope, Dulcette ambled contentedly along, no doubt happy to undertake a journey free of rider and harness.
Ghent and I had plotted out a journey that would take us to the north of the usual route to Pengraic. We wanted to avoid the plague areas. If, as the Templars had proposed, the plague always travelled in a narrow strip following my footsteps, then I could be confident that if we strayed only a short distance north we could avoid the plague completely. Ghent was less sure — he had not heard what Master Hugh had said — but I tried to reassure him as much as possible that the northerly route would be safe for us.
I was torn over this decision though. Although I had survived the plague once, and would be unlikely to catch it again, as countess I had a responsibility to those who travelled with me. I should not risk exposing my women, none of whom had been in contact with the plague, nor the soldiers and grooms who travelled with us. But in doing this, and if Master Hugh was correct in supposing the plague followed me, I would be exposing villages, towns and communities which otherwise would have remained pestilence free to the horrors of the disease.
Whatever I did would see innocent people die. Even if I had stayed in London, then that city of tens of thousands would be ravaged, whereas now I hoped it would escape.
I did not sleep well at night.
On the day we left, my husband came to farewell us in the inner bailey of the Tower. He spoke for a good while with Ghent, then stood to one side, silent, as my women and I either climbed into the cart or mounted our horses.
Only once we were all set, and Ghent about to wave us forward, did he come over to my cart.
‘Travel safely, wife,’ he said.
I gave a nod.
‘Send word once you reach Pengraic.’
I gave another nod.
‘For God’s sakes, Maeb …’
‘I wish you good luck in your quest,’ I said. ‘It will be quite the relief to me once it is all done.’
And you returned to hell.
My husband’s face tightened. ‘You have no idea of what you speak,’ he said.
‘If I still have no idea then it because you have spun yet more lies to me.’
Everyone in our column was now completely silent, the earl’s and my words ricocheting about the inner bailey.
My husband stepped back. ‘Journey well, Ghent. Keep my wife safe.’ Then he was striding back inside the building which housed our chambers, not waiting to see us gone.
I was close to tears, not only because the depth of ill-feeling between my husband and I was unsettling, but because everyone had heard that ill exchange. Poor Ghent, his back was as stiff and as straight as if he was tied to a lance.
As we rumbled out of the outer bailey, I turned on my cushions and looked behind me.
The Conqueror’s Tower rose grim and silent in the early morning, dusted with snow, the skies low and grey above.
My eyes filled with tears, and I turned my face forward, looking to the journey ahead.
We travelled as fast as the icy roads and winter conditions would allow. Our first day’s travel was on roads well kept because of their proximity to London, and we made Sancti Albani by nightfall, where we were welcomed by the abbot of the church and fed and housed comfortably. It had been a long day, and I slept solidly despite my worries, and we did not start the next day until well into the morning.
From Sancti Albani we turned north-west to follow a route that would take us a comfortable distance north of the plague-affected towns. In two days we reached Elesberie, where so recently Queen Adelaide had died. Here we stayed at the royal manor, almost ghost-like now that Edmond had departed with his wife’s corpse for the journey to Hereford cathedral. He was ten days or more ahead of us.
Ghent thought we should try to catch up as we would be travelling for much of the way along the same route. Edmond would be trav
elling slowly as he had half of his court and household with him, and because his was a mourning procession.
I did not wish to catch up with Edmond. To Ghent I argued that it would mean speedy and risky travelling along icy roads in bad weather for us to make up those ten days, and I did not wish it, nor did I wish to suddenly find myself among the court again when I was so great with child. Privately I simply did not want to see Edmond. I was certain that he would know almost instantly that something was badly wrong, and his sympathy and charm (and his sheer dogged persistence) might well worm it out of me.
I did not want Edmond to think badly of me or risk him withdrawing his support when I needed it so badly. Because of me his eldest son, his heir, had been humiliated in front of the entire court and had subsequently vanished.
No. I could not risk losing Edmond’s support.
We would not catch up to his procession.
To make certain, we stayed in Elesberie some three days, during which Ghent’s impatience grew at the same rate his temper heated. He wanted badly to get me to Pengraic as quickly as he might — the last thing Ghent wished was for me to go into labour in the cart.
Finally he managed to get me back in my cart, and we set off once more.
From Elesberie we wandered across the back of the realm, though Wodestoch and Chinteneham and all the hamlets in between, until, finally, after some two weeks of uneventful if bone-chilling journeying, we reached Saint Mary’s Priory and monastery at Derheste on the Severn. The monastery here was only small, and while Ghent, myself and my women were housed in the monastic dormitories, the soldiers and grooms had to make do with the chillier loft above the stables.
My women and I went into the church to pray before our supper. Once done, I wandered about the beautiful, ancient church. One of the monks accompanied me, a man named Thomas, who pointed out the ancient font covered with strange spiral carvings as well as many of the other carvings in the church.
I came across one set of carvings that made me furrow my brow.
‘What beasts are these?’ I said, touching the stonework, so ancient it had worn quite away, making the original lines of the carving difficult to decipher.
‘Ah,’ said Thomas, touching them almost in reverence, ‘some say these represent wolves, some dragons. The people hereabouts believe them their protectors — whether dragons or wolves — and come to church to rub the figures with their fingers, and pray to them for safeguard.’
‘That is most un-Christian,’ I said automatically, but I remembered a similar story that Owain had told me, the wolves in my dream when I had died and the silver wolf who had wandered with my protector knight.
The wolves, always.
Thomas shrugged. ‘It can be difficult to wean people away from their ancient beliefs. The stories of the Old People are still told in the forests about here, and this church is very, very old. Built when respect for the Old People was strong.’
And now the Old People again. I thought of my sun-drenched knight, and wondered if he would still protect me even knowing I was wed to one of the Devil’s servants.
After Saint Mary’s Priory and Derheste we travelled through increasingly dense forests as we wended our way west. We were close to Wales now, only a week at most from Pengraic, and I looked forward to reaching the castle. It would be good to cease this travelling, and relax, and think.
The forests protected us from the worst of the wintry weather which still battered the country. Even then, some days we could not travel because of the storms, and had to wait out the winds and snow in some tiny hamlet or monastic outpost. Eventually we crossed the Wye at Godric Castle, and there enjoyed the hospitality of its castellan, Godric of Mappestone.
Godric was a goodly fellow, and happy for the company. We arrived at midday at his castle, and thus had time for rest before we enjoyed dinner about the fires of his large hall. Ghent and I sat at his high table, while Godric went to great lengths to ensure that the wife of the powerful Earl of Pengraic was well fed and entertained.
He was curious — and somewhat cautious — about our planned route through to Pengraic. ‘The forest of Depdene between here and Bergeveny is thick and dark this time of the year,’ he said. ‘The snow will be lying in great drifts on either side of the road and, in some places, even over the road. Your soldiers and groom may have to lay aside their weapons for shovels. I shall give you some, that you not be caught unawares.’
Ghent thanked Godric and asked if there were any other dangers.
Godric looked uncertain, flashing a concerned look at me.
‘If I must endure it,’ I said, ‘then I may as well hear it now, my lord.’
Godric sighed. ‘You must be careful to keep your company together, Ghent. The pickings in the Black Mountains have been poor this winter, and at least three packs of wolves have come down into the forest, hunting. They are thin and dangerous, and may attack any isolated outriders.’
‘They would surely not attack our company?’ I said.
Wolves? What was this — legend come to life?
‘Not if you stay together, my lady. And be sure at night, wherever you stay within reach of the Depdene, to keep your horses well stabled, for the packs will attack a horse.’
I shuddered, thinking of Dulcette.
‘We shall be careful, my lord,’ I said.
‘Thank you for your care.’
We rested with Godric for two days while poor weather blew over, then rode further into Depdene forest. Godric, worthy man that he was, had supplied us with not only shovels, but stores of dry food and cured hams in case we had to overnight within the forest at any point.
I hoped we should not have to do that, for I had taken to heart his warning of the wolf packs.
But we had to be careful. We were travelling on forest tracks rather than populated roads, and on our first day out we saw no one the entire morning of our travel.
We stopped for a brief meal about noon, then continued on our way, hoping to make Skenfrith Castle by nightfall. Despite our best intentions, our travel was slow. The track was poor, making it difficult for the two carts to travel at any speed. We twice had to stop so the soldiers could dismount and clear a path for us through the snowdrifts.
By late afternoon, as we travelled as quick as we might along the track, we could hear the baying of wolves.
‘They are far away,’ Ghent tried to reassure me, and, yes, at first they were. But they quickly drew nearer, and a little time later it was pointless to assume anything other than that a pack of wolves had scented our horses, or had heard our laborious passage through the forest, and were firmly on our track. Despite all the old stories and myths I had heard about the wolves being protectors, I was frightened. It was easier to believe these howling hounds were vicious predators than supernatural protectors.
Ghent bunched us together as tightly as possible, positioning soldiers to either side of my cart, riding close himself, sword drawn, eyes darting this way and that.
The howls of the wolves were now close in among the trees to either side of us, and sometimes I thought I could see a flash of their bodies as they ran. But soon even those flashes vanished as the weather set in, and a cold, grey mist enveloped us.
Ahead I could just make out that the forest drew back a little, and that we were coming to a clearing.
‘Perhaps we could stop here?’ I said to Ghent.
He shook his head. ‘No. We have to continue on. We cannot stop. We keep moving until we reach Skenfrith Castle. The moment we stop we are vulnerable.’
I hugged my mantle closer, calling out to Isouda and Ella, who rode horses, to keep as close to the cart as they could, and trying to reassure Gytha who sat white-faced and round-eyed next to me.
She must have been wondering at the wisdom of leaving the streets of London for the wilds of the Welsh Marches.
We trundled into the clearing, and I breathed a little easier, thinking that while we were so far distant from the trees the wolves would stay back
.
But as soon as that thought crossed my mind, I heard Ghent exclaim, and our company ground to a halt.
I half rose, to see what obstructed our path, and froze as I saw.
A knight sat his courser fifteen or so paces before us, half obscured by the mist.
It was a magnificent white courser, its mane trailing on the ground, its tresses woven with diamonds which glinted but dully in this light.
I stared, realising that Ghent, as everyone else, could see him as well as I.
A wolf appeared out of the mist behind the knight, trotting up to sit by his courser.
It was a huge beast, silvery-grey, with pale, piercing eyes.
Then another wolf trotted out of the mist to sit with the knight, and another, until ten or twelve of them sat about the knight.
Ghent kicked his horse forward, his sword still drawn.
‘Ghent —’ I called, but either he did not hear me, or he ignored me.
Several among the wolves snarled as Ghent rode up to the knight but did not otherwise move. He pulled his horse to a halt some two paces from the knight, stayed still for several heartbeats, then he abruptly sheathed his sword, and rode his horse up to the knight.
They both reached out, grasping each other’s forearms in greeting.
Sweet Jesu, what was going on? I looked at the ground, wanting to get down and walk up to them, but I could not climb out by myself, and none of the soldiers would look at me, even when I spoke, so possessed were they by what happened up the track.
Muttering to myself, annoyed that I could not get out of the cart, I balanced precariously, Gytha holding onto one of my hands as I tried to see or even hear what was happening.
From what I could see, the strange knight — his face hid now by tendrils of mist rather than by bright sun — and Ghent were simply sitting their horses, looking at each other.
Then the knight leaned forward, clapping Ghent on the shoulder, and both knights spent a long moment, heads bowed, foreheads almost touching, in some strange, silent communication.
The knight leaned back, Ghent nodded, then abruptly the strange knight wheeled his courser about, and he and the wolves vanished into the mist.
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