Conquest II

by Tracey Warr

  Benedicta emerged from the great doors of the church into brilliant sunshine, was momentarily blinded and collided with someone who was about to enter the abbey. ‘My apologies,’ she bent to pick up a scroll that the man had dropped. He snatched it from her and she looked up into the face of the King’s chamberlain, Herbert. She was a little taken aback by his angry expression and turned bewildered to a second man accompanying him. A small man with red hair. Benedicta looked with shock at the bald section of his right eyebrow. Amaury’s servant. The man gave no indication of recognising her and he and the chamberlain moved on into the dim interior of the church. Benedicta hovered on the threshold trying to find a good reason why Amaury’s servant should be in the company of the King’s chamberlain but there was none. No good reason.

  22

  Salt-worn Lovers

  When my son, David, was born, his care gave me some consolation for the fact that William and Maurice had reached the age when I must also send them away to train. At least, my daughter, Angharad, who was eight and a constant delight to me, would not be leaving. William and Maurice were going to join their brother, Henry, up the coast, in the household of Gilbert FitzRichard de Clare and the kindly Adelisa. I pulled William’s collar straight and suppressed my tears. If they thought I was happy about it they would be. ‘Your father and I will come to see you in a few weeks’ time.’

  My brother and his llu, his gathered host of Welsh nobles, had begun to carry out raids in Deheubarth soon after he visited me with Gwenllian. They had attacked Norman and Flemish settlers all across the region including a raid on the village of Arberth. People said that Gwenllian rode always at his side, her red hair flying like his banner. They attacked Llandovery Castle, which was held by Richard FitzPons, and tried to taunt the garrison to come out of the castle stronghold. Raegnald had trained my brother well. They burnt the bailey but could not breach the castle motte. It was a painful thought to know that my brother’s Welsh warriors were often fighting other Welsh warriors who owed fealty to Norman lords. I saw from Gerald’s stress that my brother was having some success, but he had no real base to fight from, having to attack and then always retreat back up into the mountains.

  At Easter, Henry returned to Normandy and Haith arrived from London. Gerald told me he and Haith had orders to ‘deal with’ my brother, in cooperation with Owain ap Cadwgan and Gilbert FitzRichard de Clare, during the King’s absence. The worst that I had worried about, that my husband would be in contention with my brother, was happening.

  ‘Promise me you won’t kill my brother,’ I said to Gerald, and he stared at me, his face flushing from scarlet to white at alarming speed. I frowned. Had he planned to do so then? I thought I was asking him something that he could merely confirm.

  ‘I promise you, Nest, that I will not kill Gruffudd, unless my own life, or yours, or our childrens’ depend upon it.’

  ‘If you are in combat with him, you could take him prisoner, could you not? Rather than killing him?’ I floundered, confused by his reaction to my request.

  ‘Absolutely,’ he said firmly, trying to reassure me, seeing my rising panic.

  ‘What is it, Gerald?’ I could not understand the eddies and undertows of our conversation.

  ‘Nothing. It’s nothing.’ He turned away from me.

  We were both unhappy at the constant news of Owain operating close to our borders. He was in Henry’s pay, had turned his coat and taken arms against the Welsh rebels, including my brother. ‘Will you, ally with Owain?’ I asked Gerald, but he shook his head and would not speak of it to me.

  I arranged a spray of flowers in a vase on the small table in my room and heard the door creak behind me. I recognised Amelina’s tread. ‘What is it?’

  ‘Lady!’ she whispered.

  I turned to her. Whispering signified something to do with Gruffudd.

  ‘Dyfnwal asks that you come to Llansteffan directly and discreetly.’

  ‘Tell me quickly.’

  ‘It’s Gwenllian, your sister-in-law. She is great with child and needs our help in the birthing. Dyfnwal’s all a fluster at having her in his cottage.’

  ‘I don’t doubt it. Pack what we need. I will tell Gerald I am going to Carew and hope he is too busy to visit for a while.’

  Standing outside Dyfnwal’s cottage, we could hear that Gwenllian’s birth pangs had already begun, and Dyfnwal squatted on the ground outside the door, wringing his hat between his hands in sympathy with the intermittent cries wrung from the woman inside the hut. He jumped up at the sight of us. ‘Oh, thank God! She would not let me send for any woman from the village, fearing betrayal. I did not know what to do.’

  We hurried past him and Gwenllian also looked relieved to see us. How hard it must have been, to lay here, thinking she must birth her first child alone.

  The child was born soon after we arrived. She looked sickly and lay too quiet. Amelina exchanged a glance with me that meant she doubted the baby would live.

  ‘Where is Gruffudd?’ I asked Gwenllian. ‘We should tell him you are safe and have birthed his daughter.’

  She shook her head. ‘I don’t know exactly where he is.’

  After a few days, the baby still lived and Dyfnwal helped us move mother and child to Carew under cover of a moonless night. Amelina smuggled them across the courtyard with a hood covering Gwenllian’s distinctive red hair, and she took them up the stairs, settling them in my chamber. My steward roused from his bed and came to greet me in the hall, making no remark on the lateness of the hour.

  When I went down to break fast the following morning, the steward told me a small group of pilgrims, who were on their way to Saint Davids Cathedral, asked a night’s shelter. ‘Yes, of course. Show them a place to sleep and see that they are fed. I would speak with one or two of them, as soon as possible.’ I knew they had travelled from the east and thought it likely they had heard news of my brother.

  A Welsh man and woman, husband and wife, presented themselves to me, thanking me for my hospitality. When the customary greetings, washings and dispensing of wine and bread were over with, they tentatively grumbled about the recent appointment of a Norman bishop at Saint Davids, testing the waters of my loyalties. ‘Yes, Bishop Bernard will be another excellent source of information and control in Wales for King Henry,’ I said, and impatiently moved straight to what I needed to know. ‘I seek news of my brother, Gruffudd ap Rhys ap Tewdwr,’ I told them. ‘Have you come across any news as you travelled?’

  ‘Aye, Lady,’ said the woman in Welsh, leaning avidly forward. It seemed she was the spokesperson for this couple. She spoke in a low voice, conscious of the Normans around us. ‘Your brave brother has driven William of London from his castle at Ogmore.’ She looked at me with glee, her eyes wide, delighted to be the bearer of such big news.

  ‘Ogmore? Are you certain?’

  She nodded. ‘All certain!’ She tore another chunk from the freshly baked bread and passed it into her mouth, without taking her round eyes from my face.

  William of London had been one of Robert FitzHamon’s men. His castle of Ogmore was near Bridgend, near Glamorgan, which meant that my brother was threatening the lands of Robert Fitz- Roy and Mabel. Robert was with his father, the King, in Normandy, but his garrisons would brook no such affront to their grip on the land. They would pursue my brother relentlessly.

  When the pilgrims had left me, I went upstairs to tell Gwenllian and Amelina the latest news.

  ‘We will cast off the foreigners’ yoke, Nest,’ Gwenllian asserted, her daughter sucking at her breast. ‘Many have joined us and the hope of all Welshmen is with my lord and your brother. Even the wildfowl of Llangors Lake testify that he is the rightful prince of south Wales!’

  I ached that I might celebrate my brother’s victory with her, but how could I, fearful as I was for him, for my husband and my sons? I envied the simplicity of her fury.

  When Dyfnwal visited Amelina, he told us that the local Norman lords, including Gerald, had called a co
uncil of native chiefs at Carmarthen to discuss the threat from Gruffudd. ‘Maredudd ap Rhydderch, Owain ap Caradog and Rhydderch ap Tewdwr attended,’ he assured us. I gasped at mention of my uncle Rhydderch’s name. I knew he had submitted to Norman rule as soon as my father had been killed years before, and yet I had not thought he would stay loyal to the Normans in the face of a challenge from his kinsman, from my brother. All these Welsh lords had each pledged men enough for two weeks’ defence of Carmarthen Castle.

  A week later my brother attacked at Carmarthen and we waited anxiously for news. Gerald returned weary from the fighting and stopped at Carew to tell me himself what had happened. Gwenllian and the baby stayed out of sight and earshot. Gerald told me that my brother had successfully breached and burnt the first ring of defences at the castle, but again had not been able to take the inner motte. ‘He is defeated then?’ I asked tentatively.

  Gerald shook his head. ‘He did not take the motte but he takes the hearts and souls of your countrymen, Nest, with his boldness. They flock to him. He commands a large host.’

  A week later we learnt that Gruffudd was in Ceredigion where our kin had invited him: the nobles Cedifor ap Goronwy, Hywel ap Idwerth and Trahaern ab Ithel. It was unprecedented for men of Dyfed and of Ceredigion to band together in this way, since they were ancient enemies. The Welsh army burnt the Flemish settlement at Blaenporth and destroyed the castle of Ralph the Razo at Peithyll, who was the steward of Gilbert FitzRichard de Clare. The conflict was escalating. Now the Welsh army led by my brother was marching up the Rheidol Valley towards Aberystwyth. Through the agency of Bishop Roger of Salisbury, King Henry ordered a considerable force to be sent against Gruffudd, and this force included Owain ap Cadwagn, who was no doubt greedy for reward from the English King.

  Before the conflict at Aberystwyth, my uncle Rhydderch swapped sides and joined forces with Gruffudd, which was another sign of how strong now was the hope and belief in my brother. The Welsh army, however, was repelled by the massed Norman forces. Gwenllian was relieved when we heard that Gruffudd had evaded capture and fled to the woodlands of Cantref Bychan. After some weeks, Gwenllian and her baby daughter were well enough to travel and she took her leave of me to journey in search of her husband. She refused my offer of sending a guard with her. ‘I have no need of your servants, Nest. I cannot trust them. I will go to my man alone.’ I layered her saddle and the baby’s wrappings with soft furs and kissed Gwenllian’s cheek. ‘Take care, my sister.’ She returned my kiss and turned her horse’s head.

  ‘She is a brave one,’ said Amelina, watching her depart and frowning.

  ‘Yes,’ I said, mirroring her frown. ‘And perhaps too young to be so brave.’

  ‘You were just as brave as her at her age.’

  Amelina and I returned to Pembroke, where I hoped to keep any whisper of Gwenllian’s recent visit to Carew away from Gerald, and to see if there was any further news of my brother. Gerald and Haith were out on patrol, searching for Gruffudd, and I sat in my chamber, writing up my journal.

  ‘Nest!’ Amelina’s screech pierced my quiet afternoon.

  ‘What is it?’ I was already half-way down the stairs, calling out to her. Was one of the children hurt? My brothers?

  In the hall, I saw Haith, dirty and bloodied, and when the crowd around the table cleared, I saw Gerald lying on it, unconscious and bleeding badly from a wound in his side. His face was white and still.

  ‘No!’ I gasped.

  Amelina pushed past me with a small bowl in one hand and a jug in the other. We all watched her pour water into the bowl, set aside the jug, and gently balance the bowl on Gerald’s chest. The hall fell silent and still as everyone there held their breath, waiting to see if there was any breath left in my husband. All eyes were glued on the meniscus of the water, on that small translucent circle.

  The water trembled feebly. ‘Yes!’ Haith shouted, pointing.

  ‘Quickly! Get him to the chamber, to the bed, and gently!’ I commanded. The group of men unclasped Gerald’s cloak and used it as a sling to lift and carry him between them.

  I followed behind with Haith, whilst Amelina flew to fetch the castle surgeon.

  ‘What happened, Haith?’

  ‘We were in a skirmish with King Owain, lady.’

  ‘Owain! But he is Henry’s ally now, Gerald’s ally?’

  ‘That’s not the way Gerald saw it, my lady. We came upon the Prince by accident and he had only a few men with him.’

  ‘Owain wounded Gerald?’

  ‘They fought and yes, Gerald was wounded.’ He hesitated. ‘Owain was killed.’ He looked at me, evidently unsure how I would take this news, if the rumours of my enormous passion for the Welsh King might be true.

  ‘Good,’ I said, to set that record straight.

  ‘Gerald’s injury is bad,’ he told me in a low voice. Haith had seen many battles with Henry and I knew that if he told me this, it was likely to be true.

  The surgeon, when he came, was full of rheum and had to frequently pause in his ministrations to sneeze mightily. Amelina and I frowned together and stood as far from him as we could. He dipped a finger in Gerald’s brilliant red blood and tasted it on his tongue. ‘An excess of black bile,’ he said.

  When the surgeon was done, Amelina shooed him from the room. ‘He is a walking miasma!’ she said. ‘He’s probably killed all of us with his sneezings.’

  Amelina and I cleaned Gerald’s wounds, made him as comfortable as we could. I sat on a stool at his bedside with a bowl of water and a cloth, mopping the sweat from his face. He had regained consciousness and the surgeon had been cautiously hopeful that he would recover.

  ‘I killed him for you, Nest. He’s dead,’ he said in a weak voice.

  ‘Oh, Gerald, why did you tangle with Owain, and take such harm yourself?’

  ‘Did you think that I would blithely let him pass me on the road then, after what he did to you, to us?’

  ‘That is past, Gerald. I would rather have you safe and well. That is all that matters now.’

  ‘Nest. I have things to tell you, to confess.’

  ‘You have to rest.’

  ‘No. Have to.’

  ‘Amelina can bring a priest, Gerald, if you want, but you will regain your strength. Be easy. Rest.’

  ‘No. Have to tell you. I betrayed the Montgommerys to Henry. It was me.’

  I stared at him. He was delirious. ‘No. Richard de Belmeis, the insect, did that.’

  ‘Yes, Richard de Belmeis, but I helped him. I betrayed de Bellême and his brother Arnulf, the lord I swore my knight’s oath to. I gave the King copies of the Montgommerys’ treasonous letters.’

  I swallowed. I could not envisage how such a thing could be true. How Gerald, my straight Gerald, my true Gerald, could have betrayed his own lord. ‘You sought to be loyal to King Henry,’ I said, searching for an excuse for him.

  ‘I don’t think you should be having this conversation now,’ Amelina said, looking worried.

  ‘No,’ Gerald continued, staring relentlessly at me, ‘I sought to keep Arnulf from you. I wanted more than anything that he should not marry you.’

  ‘Then you did me a kindness, Gerald,’ I told him. ‘You have been my true husband, my dear husband, always –’

  ‘No …’ he interrupted me. ‘More. I knew about your brother, Hywel, maimed at Carmarthen, but I did not tell you. Could not. You would have hated me.’

  ‘I know that, Gerald. I understand.’

  ‘And Gruffudd …’

  ‘What about Gruffudd?’ Gruffudd, was an adult. He had made his own choices in taking the fight to the Normans. I did not blame Gerald for that contention.

  ‘I met him long ago in Dublin, when you were still a girl at Cardiff Castle, but I never told you.’

  I stared at him. ‘Why not?’

  ‘You would have hoped then, hoped that you might be returned to your Welsh kin.’

  I frowned slightly. This seemed devious, more devious than I thought Gerald
to be.

  ‘It doesn’t matter now. Please, Gerald, just lay quiet and mend. We will speak of all this later.’ I looked anxiously at blood seeping through the bandage on his stomach, and turned back to wipe his face.

  ‘More.’ His every word, every breath, was a gasp. ‘Goronwy ….’

  ‘Goronwy,’ I repeated, my hand stilled.

  ‘I killed Goronwy, Nest. At Llansteffan. It was me. I was the one who swung the sword that took his life.’ He fought for breath through pain.

  ‘You.’ My breath stopped in my throat. My mind struggled to process what I was hearing. I felt I might fall from the stool I sat upon. The room span and contracted and expanded again.

  ‘I’m sorry, Nest. So sorry.’

  ‘Gerald, no ….’

  ‘I was a boy myself. I was simply following my orders. I wanted to show I had the mettle for the act.’ This was a long speech in his condition and he heaved for air for a longer time. I, meanwhile, could not speak, could not wipe his blood and sweat, could not bear what I was hearing.

  ‘Forgive me, please, my love. I had no idea in that act that all my life with you would be tainted with the guilt of it. I could never tell you. I knew I would lose you.’

  I put the cloth stained with his blood in the bowl and sat staring at him, my hands clasped tightly round one another in my lap, as if that might help me stay upright. Eventually, I found words. ‘How could you live all these years with that lie between us, Gerald?’ The biggest lie, after the lies he had told me when he married me and then gave me to Henry, the lies about my brother Hywel and Gruffudd. ‘How could you?’