The Warrior Princess

by K. M. Ashman

  ‘So be it,’ said the man and he put the coin away before stepping aside. ‘Don’t forget, her calf will be in the stall on the last day of the month.’

  ‘Aye,’ she sighed as she walked past him, ‘but a more stupid message I have never heard.’

  ‘Fare ye well, Emma,’ said the messenger and he watched her walk back towards the town. When she had finally gone, he climbed over the graveyard wall and ran back to the cover of the nearest trees where another man was waiting with two horses.

  ‘Well, will she do it?’ said Tarw.

  ‘I think so, but her mind seems slow. Time will tell.’

  ‘Then we have done what we can, it is now out of our hands.’

  Without further ado, they mounted their horses and headed back into the dense forests.

  Pembroke Castle

  January 31st, AD 1136

  Emma was brushing Nesta’s hair, looking over her mistress’ head to gaze at her in the mirror.

  ‘Emma,’ said Nesta, ‘is there something on your mind? You seem distracted.’

  ‘Yes, my lady,’ replied Emma with a sigh. ‘I have heard that the constable is on his way back from London and will be here by midday tomorrow.’

  ‘He is,’ confirmed Nesta, ‘and who knows what new and oppressive ideas he will bring back from London with him.’

  ‘Mistress,’ said Emma eventually. ‘Can I be open with you?’

  ‘Of course,’ said Nesta. ‘What is it?’

  Emma walked around to face Nesta and took her hands in her own. ‘My lady,’ she said earnestly, ‘I worry for your safety. That constable is a cruel man and I have seen the way he looks at you. With the master gone, I think it won’t be long before he tries something with you and my heart would surely break in two if he should ever hurt you.’

  ‘I share your worry, Emma,’ replied Nesta quietly. ‘I really do, and if truth be told, I am scared of what will befall us both when he returns. But there is nothing I can do except hope he sees reason and turns his attention elsewhere.’

  ‘That will never happen, my lady,’ said Emma, ‘as well you know. That man is the devil himself, and since the master died, this whole place has changed. There is an air of fear and oppression within these walls, a build-up of anticipation as if there is a dam waiting to burst. Everyone is afraid of what is going to happen but it is you who are at risk most of all. He sees you as the ultimate prize. My lady, you have to get away from here.’

  ‘And go where?’ asked Nesta.

  ‘Can you not seek refuge amongst those who still hold your father’s name in good esteem? Surely there must be many across Wales who would offer you shelter, especially in Ceredigion or Gwynedd?’

  ‘I’m not sure, Emma. My life is here and always has been. Deheubarth is my family’s kingdom, the place where I grew up and the place where I want to be laid to rest when I die. Despite my fear, I think I should stay a while and see what happens. Perhaps, when the new castellan is appointed by the king I can share my fears and curtail the constable’s attentions.’

  ‘I hope so, my lady,’ said Emma, ‘for it is only a matter of time before that man does something terrible. You mark my words.’

  The maid continued brushing her mistress’ hair. For a few moments there was a shared silence until eventually Nesta spoke again.

  ‘Emma,’ she said quietly, ‘you have always been a good servant to me and to my mother before me. Not only are you my maid and confidante, I also count you as my friend. Perhaps the only true one I have.’

  ‘Nonsense, my lady,’ replied Emma. ‘You are well respected by all the people of Pembroke and right across Deheubarth.’

  ‘Respected?’ said Nesta. ‘Not the first emotion I would have chosen, given the choice.’

  ‘Respect is good, my lady,’ said Emma, ‘and I’m sure that if things had been different you would be as loved as your dear mother was. As it is, well . . .’ The rest of the sentence went unfinished as both women stared at each other.

  ‘You mean if I had been married to a Welshman,’ said Nesta.

  ‘What I think is irrelevant,’ said Emma, ‘and the politics of royalty is often beyond me. All I know is you are the daughter of Rhys ap Tewdwr and should have been living a life suitable to your station, not married off to an English knight.’

  ‘Well, that situation has come to an end,’ said Nesta quietly.

  ‘Oh, my lady,’ said Emma, ‘I did not mean to disrespect your husband so soon after his death I just meant you deserved so much more. But God works in mysterious ways and it is obvious he had a different path chosen for you.’

  ‘Is this it then?’ asked Nesta. ‘Is this where that path ends? For if it is, it just doesn’t make sense.’

  Emma walked over to a table and picked up a small hand mirror to show Nesta the back of her hair.

  ‘Whatever happens,’ she said as her mistress inspected her work, ‘you are still a beautiful woman and when your heart has stopped aching, I’m sure there will be suitors queuing from here to London to take your hand.’

  ‘I don’t want any other man,’ said Nesta, ‘at least not yet. I would just like a few months to gather my thoughts in peace while I try to work out what my future holds.’

  ‘Nonsense,’ said Emma. ‘No woman should be alone. It’s not natural.’

  ‘You are, and as far as I know, always have been.’

  ‘That’s different,’ said Emma. ‘I had a calling and devoted my life to your mother and now you.’

  Nesta smiled. ‘What did I ever do to deserve you?’

  ‘Oh, stop it,’ said Emma. ‘You are making me blush. Right, I am done here, I’ll just go down and collect your cloak from the kitchens and we can be going. It should be nice and warm by now.’

  ‘I hope so,’ said Nesta. ‘It looks freezing out there.’

  ‘It’s even colder in the cemetery,’ said Emma. ‘It’s as if the souls of the dead linger there, extending their spirit fingers into your soul.’

  ‘Stop it,’ said Nesta with a shiver. ‘I don’t like those places at the best of times.’

  ‘We don’t have to go,’ said Emma. ‘We can go in the spring.’

  ‘No, I missed Catrin’s burial,’ said Nesta, ‘and it is only right I pay my respects.’

  ‘If you are sure,’ said Emma.

  ‘I am. Come, I will go to the kitchens with you.’

  ‘If truth be told,’ said Emma as they walked to the door, ‘I will be glad of the company. The last time I went I thought my heart would stop in fear.’

  ‘Really? Is it that bad?’

  ‘Well, it is quite scary but it was no spirit that made me jump but a stranger who crept up behind me.’

  ‘Oh, no,’ said Nesta, ‘did he hurt you?’

  ‘No, my lady, he just rambled something about calves and stalls.’

  ‘Calves and stalls,’ said Nesta as they descended the stairs. ‘How strange.’

  ‘Aye,’ said Emma. ‘It was. That is why I didn’t bother telling you before. The man was obviously drunk so I didn’t want to burden you with his nonsense.’

  ‘Burden me? Why would it affect me?’

  ‘Because he insisted I pass the message on to you. Obviously he was a simpleton and, anyway, it was over a week ago and he has no doubt long gone.’ Emma went down the last few steps before realising her mistress was no longer beside her. She turned to see Nesta standing halfway up the stairs, her face pale with shock. ‘My lady,’ she said, ‘what’s the matter?’

  ‘Emma,’ said Nesta, ‘tell me exactly what the man said, word for word.’

  ‘I think it was a calf will be in the stalls,’ said Emma. ‘Why? Is it important?’

  Nesta ran down the steps and grabbed Emma’s arm. ‘Yes it is,’ she said earnestly. ‘Think hard. What exactly did he say? It is essential you get it right.’

  Emma took a deep breath and thought back. ‘His exact words were: “her calf will be in the stalls”, referring to you. That’s why I thought he was a simpleton, you h
ave no calves.’

  ‘Oh, I do,’ said Nesta. ‘One very important one. When did he say it will be there?’

  ‘On the last day of the month,’ said Emma.

  ‘That’s tonight,’ said Nesta. Her mind raced with the implications before she looked back at her maid.

  ‘Emma,’ she said, ‘please accept my apologies but I can no longer accompany you to the graveyard. At least not today. Would you be heartbroken if we put it off for a few days?’

  ‘Of course not,’ said Emma. ‘But I do not understand. Where are you going?’

  ‘I’ll tell you, Emma,’ she said, ‘but not here. Let’s go back to my quarters.’ Nesta turned and ran back up the stairs with her maid following as fast as she was able. Moments later they were in Nesta’s room and Emma closed the door behind them.

  ‘Lock it,’ said Nesta. ‘We need to ensure nobody else overhears us.’

  Emma did as she was told and turned back to her mistress. ‘My lady, I have not seen you so excited in a long while. What is it about this message that has you in such a state?’

  ‘Emma,’ replied Nesta, ‘you have met my brother on several occasions, yes?’

  ‘I have,’ said Emma, ‘but not for many years.’

  ‘Neither have I, for we thought he was dead. But recently he reappeared along with one of his sons down in the town. It is rumoured his wife is also alive and they hide out amongst the rebels of the Cantref Mawr. Did you know this?’

  ‘I have heard the rumours,’ said Emma, ‘but believed they were no more than that.’

  ‘As did I,’ said Nesta, pacing the floor. ‘Since then I have hoped he would get in touch but, alas, no contact was forthcoming. I then thought perhaps the stories were false and he really was dead but this message proves differently. He is alive, Emma, and he wants to see me.’

  ‘I don’t understand,’ said Emma. ‘If you are referring to the message, then I can assure you it was not your brother who gave it to me.’

  ‘No, I expect not and it was good planning on his behalf in case the English got wind of his appearance and trapped him there. The messenger was obviously one of his men and used in case of treachery.’

  ‘But I still don’t understand. What is it in the message that proves he is alive?’

  ‘Emma, what do they call my brother?’

  ‘I have always called him my Lord Gruffydd,’ said Emma.

  ‘No, I mean the people, his men, his enemies, what name is he known by?’

  ‘Tarw, the bull of Wales.’

  ‘Exactly, and he has born that name since he was a babe in arms. When we were growing up, I used to tease him and say he wasn’t a bull but a little calf, my little calf. Since then it has always been our way of ensuring any messages from him were genuine.’

  ‘Oh,’ said Emma, ‘I didn’t realise.’

  ‘That’s the whole point, but it matters not. I have the message now and I still have time.’

  ‘Time for what?’

  ‘To meet him of course. That’s what the message is about. He wants to meet me on the last day of the month and that is today.’

  ‘My lady, you cannot leave the castle. The steward will insist on guards.’

  ‘I know, but luckily I don’t have to. The stall he refers to is built into the castle walls – a room to which we both have access.’

  ‘The postern gate,’ said Emma quietly as she recalled a memory. ‘I remember you used to meet him there many years ago. I had spare keys made for you in the town.’

  ‘You did, and I met Tarw several times there without discovery.’

  ‘Do you still have the key to the inner door?’

  ‘I do and I assume he also has his key to the outer door.’ She paused and stared at the maid. ‘Oh Emma,’ she said, walking over to take her maid’s hands in hers, ‘I know I am putting you at risk by telling you this but I have no one else to talk to and I will need your help to make it happen. Please say you will keep this between ourselves.’

  ‘My lady,’ said Emma, stepping back in shock, ‘I have never betrayed even the slightest of trusts placed upon me and I swear, I would suffer the depths of hell itself before I said anything to anyone that may put you at risk.’

  ‘I know,’ said Nesta, ‘and I would entrust this information to no other person. You are truly the greatest friend any woman ever had.’

  ‘So,’ said Emma, ‘what do you want me to do?’

  Pembroke Castle

  January 31st, AD 1136

  Tarw kept close to the timber palisade of the castle walls as he sidled through the darker shadows to the postern gate. The small doorway, designed for secret access and egress during any potential siege, was hidden in the corner where one of the defensive towers met a wall and though in times of war it would be heavily defended from above, during peacetime its robust nature and the fact that it led into a room secured on the opposite side by another heavily locked door meant it was not seen as a risk to the garrison. To either side of the outer door were a series of very narrow arrow slits and in the room itself murder holes were incorporated into the ceiling above, allowing defenders to assault any intruders who managed to find and access the hidden entrance.

  Tarw knew that the murder holes themselves would be covered with trapdoors on the floor above – not only to stop anyone turning an ankle as they passed but also to stop any draughts affecting the room where many men were stationed. Despite this, he also knew that once inside, he had to be as quiet as death itself. Slowly he approached, regularly glancing upwards at the ramparts. Though it was dark, the clouds were fleeting and the moon meant that if any guard looked down, it was quite likely Tarw would be seen.

  Eventually he reached the door and retrieved a key held on a leather thong from around his neck. Carefully he placed the key in the lock and turned it slowly. At first it refused to budge and for a few moments he feared the lock had been changed but finally the key turned and the locking bar withdrew with a faint but satisfying thud. Quickly, he leaned against the door but it wouldn’t move and he realised that it must be barred on the inside.

  ‘Damn,’ he cursed to himself but he knew there was nothing more he could do. He was relying now on the intervention of Nesta from the inside.

  ‘Right,’ said Nesta, up in her room. ‘You know what to do.’

  ‘Aye,’ said Emma. ‘Tell the guard that you are ill and have refused your food. Offer it to him but ensure he leaves the keep door unattended.’

  ‘Right,’ said Nesta. ‘When I have gone, keep an eye out for me down at the stables from my chambers. I will signal you when we are done and you can distract him again to let me back in. Agreed?’

  ‘I’ll try my best, my lady,’ said Emma.

  ‘Good. Let’s see what you have for him.’

  Emma uncovered the tray and revealed half a loaf of warm bread with a pot of rich butter, a whole chicken still steaming from the oven and a bowl of boiled root vegetables.

  ‘Quite a feast,’ said Nesta, ‘and one difficult to turn down. The poor man will think I am a glutton, there is so much food.’

  ‘Are you ready?’ asked Emma.

  ‘Wait,’ said Nesta. ‘There is something missing.’ She walked over to the side table and came back clutching a flask of good wine. ‘It was the master’s favourite,’ she said, ‘but he has no use for it now.’

  With all preparations done, the two women crept down the stairs and approached the main doorway to the keep. As planned, Emma placed the tray in the guardroom to one side before opening the outer door and addressing the guard outside. Nesta hid around the corner, listening to the muffled conversation. At first she thought the ruse was not going to work but finally the guard came inside, banging his hands against his sides to restore some circulation. Emma came behind him and glanced towards Nesta’s hiding place.

  ‘You had better not tell the constable about this,’ he said to the maid, ‘or he will have my hide.’

  ‘You have my sworn word,’ said Emma, ‘and besides, even
if I did I would surely be in just as much trouble as you.’

  ‘And you are sure the lady Nesta said I could have it?’ he asked again, glancing through the door to the guardroom and seeing the uncovered feast upon the tray.

  ‘She told me to get rid of it as she is so sick but I have already eaten. Of course, if you don’t want it I can give it to the dogs.’

  ‘No, you stay where you are,’ said the guard, ‘and keep an eye on the bailey out of the window. If anything should even move, you call me straight away. Understood?’

  ‘Aye,’ sighed Emma, ‘but make up your mind for I am growing tired and that hot chicken is beginning to look quite tempting.’

  The soldier laughed and headed into the room. ‘Too late for that, old girl,’ he said as he dragged a chair over to the table.

  When he was settled, Emma nodded to her mistress, still hiding in the shadows. Nesta quickly walked across the corridor and eased the door inward before slipping out into the night. Behind her, Emma kept the guard distracted before going over to her agreed position at one of the windows. The first part of the plan was done.

  Nesta walked quickly down the steps of the motte and across the bailey towards the stables. Up on the palisades she could see some of the castle guards standing around the braziers, their attention focussed on the warmth of the flames rather than anything else. She kept to the shadows and was soon at the inner door of the postern tower. Retrieving her key, she let herself inside before locking the door behind her. The darkness was absolute and she fumbled in the pouch around her waist to find the items she needed to light a fire. Soon she had a small flame in a ball of lamb’s wool kindling and she carefully lit the half-candle she had brought with her.

  Now able to see where she was going, she walked over to the outer door and was shocked to find it secured with a wooden bar sitting across the frame. Placing the candle to one side, she lifted the bar and slid it to one side and was about to try the lock when the door eased inward. Quickly, she retreated across the room, and watched as a man’s head appeared around the frame. Even in the faint light given off by the flickering candle, she recognised the features of her younger brother.