by Speer, Flora
Meredith looked down at the wound the dog had inflicted, then back at the boy. He was richly dressed in a knee-length dark blue wool tunic, lighter blue wool hose, and one soft leather shoe. He was covered with mud and bits of leaves and twigs.
“Your stocking is torn. Oh, look at your poor leg,” she murmured.
“It’s nothing. That’s where I was wedged between the rock and the branch. I’d have stayed there forever if you hadn’t come along.”
“Not forever, surely. Someone would have come looking for you.”
“You saved my life,” he proclaimed solemnly.
“You saved mine,” Meredith said, her eyes on the dog. “Who are you?”
“I am Thomas fitz Lionel,” he said, “son of the late Lord Lionel, Baron of Afoncaer, and nephew of Lord Guy, the new baron. May I ask your name, my lady?”
“Meredith,” she said. “No one has ever called me ‘my lady’ before.”
“It’s because I am a page. We are taught to hold all women in reverence and always be extremely polite. I learned that at the court of King Henry.”
“Did you? Why are you a page?”
“It’s part of my training. When I am fourteen I will become a squire, and when I’m twenty-one I’ll be a knight. I’d like to be my Uncle Guy’s squire, but he already has Geoffrey. Do you know my Uncle Guy?”
“I saw him once. You are very like him.”
“I hope so. He’s the finest knight I know. Shouldn’t you do something to stop the bleeding? Your sleeve is soaked.” Thomas looked at her arm with a sick expression, and Meredith repressed the urge to tell him Norman knights were supposed to enjoy bloodshed. Instead, she made herself stand up, hanging on to the tree to do so, and discovered her knees were shaking only a little. Thomas’s young hand on her elbow steadied her.
“I’ll go home and tend to it.” Meredith paused, unwillingly giving up her plan to walk to the castle. It would have to wait for another day. Then, “You are hurt, too, Thomas. Will you come with me and let me tend your wounds?”
“I would be honored.” Thomas made a funny, formal bow, the left leg of his hose torn and sagging below his bruised and scraped knee. “A lady always binds up her knight’s wounds after the battle.”
“You’d better find your other shoe first.”
Thomas dove into the leaf pile, scattering debris about with abandon. He finally emerged, dirtier than ever, with the missing shoe. He sat down to put it on, then looked up at her, head cocked to one side.
“You live here in the forest, don’t you? You are one of the people Geoffrey and Father Herbert have talked about.” He finished tying the leather thong of his shoe and stood up. “Shall we go, my lady?”
As Meredith led him through the trees she wondered if she was doing the right thing by taking Thomas to the cave. He was a Norman, after all. But he was also a child, and injured, and he had fought the dog for her sake. Perhaps she could induce him to keep quiet about the cave and its occupants. He was intelligent and curious; he might like to have a secret.
Branwen met them at the cave entrance.
“There was an accident,” Meredith explained. “This is Thomas of Afoncaer.”
“Norman.” Branwen’s angry dark eyes pierced Meredith through and through before she looked at the boy, noting every detail of his appearance.
“He rescued me,” Meredith told her, and saw her aunt’s expression soften before she moved aside to let them enter the cave.
“He’s hurt,” Branwen said. “Come in, boy.”
Thomas’s eyes widened when Rhys appeared from the inner cave, his grey robe flowing about him, and Meredith remembered her own first sight of the old man. The white cat followed close at Rhys’s heels. Meredith heard Thomas catch his breath when he saw the animal.
“Are you a wizard?” Thomas asked.
“I am a healer, young man. Sit here and let Meredith tend to your wounds. You have been in a battle, I see.”
While Meredith cleaned and dressed Thomas’s injuries and then let Branwen soothe her arm with a salve made from mint leaves, the best remedy for dog bite, Rhys drew from Thomas the details of their adventure.
“You acted bravely,” Rhys said, “but you should not come into the forest alone. It’s not safe for a Norman lord.”
“I’m not a lord, I’m only a page,” Thomas pointed out. “And I didn’t come alone, Clovis followed me.” He stuck out his hand toward the cat, who sniffed his fingers and then rubbed its head against Thomas’s hand until the boy scratched behind its ears.
“The cat’s name is Gwyn,” Rhys said, smiling. “In my native tongue it means ‘white.’ She doesn’t let just anyone pet her. You are special, young man.”
Thomas sat in silence, stroking Gwyn’s milky fur.
“I don’t like it at the castle,” Thomas said after a while. “I love my Uncle Guy, and my mother is so beautiful I want to look at her all the time, but they are both busy and I miss my friends at court. There are no other pages at Afoncaer, no one my age at all.”
No wonder he appeared to be so grown-up and yet so childish at the same time, Meredith thought. She understood how he felt. She too had lacked friends of her own age, and had tried be an adult when she was with her elders.
“You should come back in a day or two so I can put a fresh bandage on your knee,” Meredith said. “I used a salve made from goose-grass on it, and it will heal with no scar, but it must be kept very clean, and I ought to put more of the salve on the wound later.”
His smile was blinding.
“May I really visit you again?” he asked.
“Thomas,” Rhys said, “I want you to understand that we are not witches and that this cave is a place of peace and safety. I will allow no violence here. You must tell no one how to reach this place.”
“I won’t reveal a thing, not even if they torture me. I promise, Rhys, and you must know a knight always keeps his vows. I’m not a knight yet, but I will be some day,” Thomas finished lamely.
“Not if you kill yourself sliding down hills first,” Branwen observed dryly, handing over his neatly mended stocking.
“I wasn’t sliding, I slipped and fell. Thank you, Lady Branwen.” Thomas took the stocking and turned his back to the women while he pulled it on and fastened it. “I suppose I should go home now.” He did not sound very enthusiastic.
“I’ll show you the way,” Meredith offered.
“Goodbye, Rhys. Goodbye, Lady Branwen.” Thomas bowed to each of them and gave Gwyn one last pat on the head before following Meredith out of the cave.
There were too many grownups in the temporary great hall. Guy could see how uncomfortable they all made Thomas. The boy was having a wretched time of it. Still, it was Isabel’s place to question him and chastise him if she wished.
“Where have you been?” Isabel demanded for the third time. She wrinkled her pretty nose at her son. “I will have an honest answer, Thomas. You are disgracefully dirty. You do not look like a proper page to me.”
“Disgraceful,” echoed Father Herbert, standing at Isabel’s left elbow. “You should not come before your mother in such a state, boy.”
Thomas glared at his mother’s chaplain with injured pride.
“I’m sorry, Mother. I … I had a little accident. I fell.”
“Did you?” she said, eyebrows raised. “And who, pray tell, mended your stocking?”
“I tore it.”
“I can see that. By what magic was it repaired?”
“Magic? No magic, Mother. I met a nice lady who bandaged my knee and fixed my stocking.” It was obvious that Thomas was withholding something.
Reynaud had been working at a parchment-strewn table during this interrogation. Now he laid down his quill, pushed back the plans for the new tower keep, and fixed his pale blue eyes on Thomas.
“What lady?” Isabel asked.
“A Welsh lady,” Thomas replied. He began to look distinctly frightened.
“Welsh?” spluttered Father Herbert.
“We can’t have this. You are a Norman, lad, a nobleman. Remember that and don’t trust these barbarians.”
“She’s a nice lady.” Thomas blinked back angry tears. “She put a salve made from goose-grass on my knee and it stopped hurting at once and didn’t bleed any more, and then she bandaged it.”
“Witchcraft,” muttered Father Herbert, crossing himself. “Those people in the woods. I warned you, my lord. Such medicine is against the law. William the Conqueror specifically said no deviation from the true religion of Rome is to be allowed. The woman is obviously a witch. You must do something about this. It is your responsibility.” He drew a breath, clearly preparing to say more on the subject, but Thomas spoke up.
“She’s not a witch! She’s not!” Thomas declared. “She’s just a nice lady, that’s all.”
“Really, Thomas,” Isabel exclaimed, “if there were another lady around here I would know it.”
“Stop this nonsense at once!” Guy interrupted brusquely. “You can see the boy is not seriously harmed. Whoever it was, some villein’s wife, perhaps, tended to his wound and sent him home. Isn’t that it, boy?”
“Yes, Uncle Guy.”
“Just where did this happen?” Isabel persisted.
“In the forest,” Thomas admitted reluctantly.
“There, you see, my lord.” Father Herbert looked triumphant. “Where in the forest, Thomas?”
“I – I don’t remember.” Thomas looked like a trapped rabbit. He met Guy’s eyes with a pleading expression, and Guy came to his rescue.
“That’s enough, Father Herbert. Leave the boy alone. I expect you’d like a bath and some food, wouldn’t you, Tom?”
Thomas nodded, unable to speak, but Guy saw the gratitude in his eyes at the use of that grownup ‘Tom.’
“Why don’t you take care of him, Isabel?” Guy suggested. “You are his mother,” he added pointedly.
“Very well. Come along, Thomas. I’ll tell Agnes to prepare you a bath.”
“I’ll come, too, Lady Isabel, in just a moment,” Father Herbert said. “I think young Thomas should rehearse his catechism for me, just to be certain no damage has been done to his soul. We can’t be too careful in heathen lands like this.”
“Poor lad,” Guy murmured, watching Thomas and his mother leave through the door into the women’s quarters.
“My lord, this could be serious,” Father Herbert said. “It’s possible those folk in the forest will try to infect your nephew with their evil. First they’ll make friends with him, and then…”
“For God’s sake, man, use your head. There’s no evil involved in this. Weren’t you ever a boy?”
“Most assuredly I was, my lord, but I fail to see…”
“Didn’t you ever go off by yourself and get into some scrape and come home not wanting to tell the grownups about it?”
“No, my lord, I do not think I ever did.”
“Then I pity you. Leave the boy alone.”
“But, my lord, they are witches. They are breaking the law.”
“I have told you before, Father Herbert, and I tell you again: we have no proof that anyone is a witch. We have not even a hint of witchcraft, except in your imagination. The building is going more smoothly than we ever dreamed it could. I do not want to stir up trouble. Do you understand me?” Guy put both his hands on the table and bent toward the priest, looking him straight in the eye.
“Yes, my lord.” Father Herbert was not a man to disagree for very long with a patron as generous as Sir Guy.
“Good. This incident is a boyish prank, nothing more. Forget it.”
Father Herbert left, heading for the women’s quarters. Guy swung back to Reynaud, who had been listening intently to all of this. Now the builder spoke for the first time.
“Geoffrey has used up a lot of ale and has acquired precious little information from the local men, my lord. The people here seem to be sheltering someone.”
“And? Out with it, Reynaud. What are you thinking?”
“Like you, that Father Herbert is making a great deal too much fuss over nothing. Yet I cannot help wondering who did mend Thomas’s stocking.”
“That,” Guy said, grinning at this quiet man he was beginning to like very much, “is something I intend to discover as soon as possible.”
Chapter 18
Guy watched as his nephew slipped across the outer bailey to the wall. Thomas hid himself behind workmen whenever possible, crouched down behind a pile of rubble to avoid being seen by Reynaud, who was supervising construction work on the new watchtowers by the main gate, and finally stole unnoticed through the wide-open gateway.
“Geoffrey.” Guy put out his hand to take the reins of the horse his squire was holding. “Stay here. I need some exercise.” Guy swung into the saddle and rode after Thomas.
He scanned the fields, disregarding the familiar figures of villeins attending to his crops, and then looked toward the edge of the forest beyond the fields. His sharp eyes caught a flicker of movement just before it was gone among the trees. He started down the castle road, but when he reached the end of the fields he left the road and headed into the woods. At first he could see nothing, until he spied Thomas some distance ahead. He walked his horse through the trees. When the underbrush became too thick to ride he dismounted, tied the animal to a tree and went on foot. His master of the hounds had told him exactly where Thomas had tied and left the cur Clovis, and Guy could see his nephew was heading in that direction. He moved faster, his eyes on Thomas rather than watching his footing, so he nearly went over the edge of the ravine where Thomas had fallen the day before. He could see the damaged bushes and the pile of underbrush at the bottom. He whistled softly, seeing how steep the hillside was.
“Lucky you didn’t break both your legs, Tom, my lad,” he said aloud.
He saw Thomas again, walking lightly through the brush, apparently unaware he was being followed. Guy picked his way down the hill, slowly and carefully, at a safe angle. By the time he reached the bottom, Thomas was out of sight. Guy set off in the direction where he had last seen the boy.
Meredith had not really expected to see him again, thinking that after his accident he would be made to stay at the castle and not be allowed to go wandering about the forest alone, but there Thomas was the next afternoon, making his way through the bushes that obscured the entrance to the cave.
“Lady Meredith, my knee is better, but I thought you should look at it again, just to be sure. Is Rhys here?” Thomas looked over her shoulder into the cave. He laughed as Gwyn left her spot by the fire and ran to receive his caress along her silky white back.
“Rhys and Branwen have gone to visit a man too sick to come to us. They will return soon.” Meredith did not add that she thought Rhys should have stayed at the cave. He’d had the pain around his heart again last night, and she was worried about him.
“Will you see to my knee now?” Thomas was looking at her strangely and she realized she had been lost in her concern over Rhys. She smiled brightly, bringing her thoughts back to the slender child who stood before her.
“Of course. Sit there.” While she tended his knee, Thomas looked around, stroking Gwyn, who sat contentedly by his side.
“I like this place,” Thomas said. “It feels safe. Do you ever go in there?” He nodded toward the darkness of the inner chamber.
“Sometimes.” She finished tying the fresh bandage and sat back.
“Is it very big?” His eyes were still on the blackness over her shoulder.
“Huge.”
“Could a person get lost in it?”
“If you don’t know your way.”
“Are you a heathen?”
“What?”
“Are you a witch?”
“Rhys told you yesterday, we are healers.”
“Father Herbert says you are all witches and that you are breaking Norman laws.”
Meredith stood, hands on hips, too angry to be frightened yet by the implication of his words.
> “Thomas, you swore you would not tell where we are. You have broken your word. Norman knight! Liar! Branwen was right, I should never have brought you here. You betrayed us!”
Gwyn, unaccustomed to angry voices, leapt from Thomas’s side toward the inner chamber, her tiny white body poised for further flight.
“No,” Thomas cried, “Truly, I haven’t betrayed you. My mother noticed my stocking was mended and I tried to make them think you were some villein’s wife. I didn’t tell, I didn’t.”
“I trusted you!”
“The boy is telling the truth.” At the sound of that quiet voice, Meredith whirled and gasped.
Guy of Afoncaer seemed to fill the whole cave with his lordly presence. He was unarmored, but his sword hung at his side and a small hunting dagger was thrust through his belt. His short tunic matched his deep blue eyes, eyes that widened in virile appreciation as he took in every detail of Meredith’s face and figure. Meredith felt dizzy under that scrutiny. She knew she was blushing.
“I – I – how did you find this place?” Meredith stammered.
“By following Thomas, of course,” he said. “I am a good hunter. I seldom lose my quarry.”
“Uncle Guy, please tell her I didn’t break my word,” Thomas begged.
“I just did, Tom.”
“Why should I believe either of you?” Meredith was trembling so hard she thought she would fall. She was alarmed, because now the Normans knew where she and Rhys and Branwen lived, and frightened for what might – no, what surely would – happen to them all, but she was happy, too, with a wild, singing joy that raced through every nerve at his presence. No one else she had ever known had made her feel this way, not even Rhys, when she had thought he was a wizard. What was it that this Norman lord did to her, what in heaven’s name was this feeling? She wanted above all things to touch him, to feel bone and muscle and warmth. She half lifted her hand, then remembered he was the enemy, and her hand fell to her side. She felt hopelessness wash over her.