She pushed back her chair and stood up. Limping over to the sink she picked up a glass, filled it with water and drank it, staring out of the window into the garden. ‘You were talking to Bryn earlier?’ Her voice was normal again.
‘I was. He seems a nice man. Dependable, I should say.’ Rufus left it at that and Andy was silent. She put the glass down on the draining board and turned back. ‘I suppose I had better write it down.’
‘Do you think you will forget it if you don’t?’
‘No.’ She lowered herself into her chair. ‘No, I think I’m afraid I might lose the detail. The small things. Or alter it in my head later as I think about it. There’s so much happening and it drifts away into the shadows as I wake, just like any dream.’
‘That shouldn’t be a problem. You can train yourself to remember more and more. And you can train yourself to ask questions of the dream.’ Rufus’s eyes were alight with interest. ‘I envy you this so much, Andy. What an experience!’
She gave a wan smile. ‘You don’t think it’s dangerous then?’
‘Dangerous?’ He frowned. ‘I don’t see how it could be if you’re careful.’
‘That’s what Meryn said,’ she sighed.
‘I think you need to listen to this Meryn chap and get him to give you some lessons, girl.’ He reached out for her hand again. ‘I sense from what you say that he hasn’t done it yet out of respect for me, but I’m not the expert round here. All I can say is that you mustn’t do it if it worries you.’
‘It doesn’t worry me, but it makes me tired.’ She looked up at him again. ‘I don’t think it’s the kind of sleep that exactly refreshes one.’
He pushed back his chair. ‘Go and take a shower to wake you up properly. Later I’ll drive us out somewhere for a nice meal. How does that sound? Forget all this for a while.’
She smiled back at him. ‘That sounds good. I would like that.’
In the corner of the room Dafydd ap Hywell ap Gruffydd, poet and seer, scowled blackly. His daughter had somehow brought these ghosts into his house. The evil dreams that beset him of death and defeat were linked to these apparitions. His daughter had been playing with magic and witchcraft in his absence and she had allowed the house to be overrun with demons.
Rhona had found a spot in the lane higher up, near the cattle grid, where she could pull off into a passing place and see clearly over a gate down across a field which sloped out of sight towards a forested hillside. It had taken her a while to realise that the lane had doubled back on itself as it climbed so that she could see the grey, lichened roofs of Sleeper’s Castle nestling into the wooded hillside immediately below her. It was the perfect lookout point from which to survey the place. She left the car, hauled herself over the gate and set out across the field, scattering sheep before her as she walked. As she reached the top of the slope she moved more cautiously, aware that she might be silhouetted against the skyline.
She could feel the power of the house, even from here. It was like a magnet and the more she looked the angrier she felt. It was as though some ancient force was feeding her rage.
The front door was open. She narrowed her eyes then reached into the pocket of her raincoat and pulled out a small pair of binoculars. There was a figure standing in the doorway. A man. He was leaning against the doorframe, staring out towards her. She gave a smug smile. There was no way he could see her so far away. She trained the glasses on him and studied his face. She remembered him. It was Andy’s father. She pocketed the glasses again and stood still, thinking. He had divorced Andy’s mother and gone off to live in Northumberland or somewhere with a new wife and had masses of new children over the intervening years, so the chances were he was only here for a fleeting visit.
Rhona smiled as she turned away from her viewpoint and headed back up the field. She was beginning to enjoy this whole enterprise. She had always thought of deer-stalking as a stupid and mindless occupation, something her own father had enjoyed which had taken him away from her and her mother for long swathes of the summer holidays, but now she was beginning to understand why he had found it so intriguing. It was the fascination of pitting your wits against another living creature, albeit one who didn’t know it was being hunted. She could almost feel her trigger finger itching as she thought about it. She had no gun, that was the problem. She stopped in her tracks, unaware of the sheep bunching near her, nervously eyeing her as she stood, her boots wet with rain in the middle of the field. A gun. But then she knew nothing about shooting, so maybe that was not an option. Part of the enjoyment of stalking your prey was waiting to see what opportunities fate would present.
22
Catrin was on the hillside picking mushrooms. Her basket was almost full and she straightened, her hand to her back, as her shadow lengthened across the grass to stand and look out towards the distant peaks of the Brecknock Mountains. Something was moving in the heather below her. She refocused her eyes trying to see what it was; a sheep or a wild pony or perhaps one of the sturdy small cows that grazed up here on the commons. She stared round looking for a cowherd and as she scanned the view, her hand shading her eyes against the reddening sunlight as it sank further into the west, she could make out a figure walking towards her. She watched incredulously, not wanting to believe her eyes. ‘Edmund?’
He ran the last few paces and swung her into his arms. Abruptly he put her down. ‘I am sorry. I was so pleased to see you. How are you, Catrin?’ He held her at arm’s length and studied her face.
‘You followed me up here?’ She felt the old mix of longing and indignation. She took several steps backwards, looking at him closely. ‘How did you know I was here?’
‘Joan told me you were mushrooming and I remembered you told me you used to come up here to the common below Pen-y-Beacon.’
‘I did?’ She was shocked.
‘You did.’ He tried to look solemn. ‘I can tell you the exact moment. We were sitting at the bottom of the lowest table waiting for your father to recite when we were in the castle at Chirk and you mentioned that you hoped we would be home in time for the mushrooms on the hill. A moment later the ladies whisked you away to sing to them in their solar.’
‘That was years ago!’
‘And so much has happened since then.’ He sighed.
For the first time she began to look at him properly. His face was tired and lined.
‘Why are you here?’
‘Always to the point. I have errands to run. I thought I would drop in on my sister.’
She was taken aback. ‘And me?’
‘Oh, yes, Cat. And you.’ He held her gaze so intently she dropped her eyes, embarrassed.
‘The Lord Owain has become very great now. He has triumphed all over Wales,’ she said slowly. ‘We hear he is based at Harlech and he holds parliaments.’
‘And he negotiates with the kings of France and Scotland.’ He smiled at her. ‘He is truly Prince Owain now. Prince of all Wales.’
‘The king will never stop fighting him.’
‘I remembered how much gossip you hear, in your eyrie where only the buzzards and eagles fly.’ He moved away from her and sat down on a tussock of dried grasses. He patted the ground beside him. ‘You can be my ears and eyes. What do they say in Hay?’
Catrin hesitated only a moment before coming to sit beside him. She tucked her long skirts round her knees and told him about the reeve’s warning. So much had happened since then. The Welsh army had broached Hay town walls a second time and burned many of the houses, then they had surrounded the castle and battered holes in its defences, but already all was being rebuilt and an experienced knight from England, Richard Arundel, had been brought in as the new castellan.
‘We did not fare so badly as some other places,’ she said, glancing at him. ‘I’ve heard it said that it’s because the Lord Owain has friends in Hay. But Hay is like everywhere else, no one knows who supports who. Men try to farm their fields and watch in despair as armies pass by leaving nothing but devasta
tion. Up in the hills we do hear things. We hear of battles far away up the border and we hear of treaties and we hear of the king in London ranting on about us thieving Welsh and forbidding the encouragement of bards.’ She gave a bitter little smile. ‘And I wonder,’ she went on sadly, ‘what has happened to Catherine and Alys.’
‘They are well.’ Edmund smiled. ‘As you know, Catherine is married to Edmund Mortimer and now she has a baby boy.’
‘And Alys?’
He smiled. ‘Alys is happy. I think she is in love.’
She gave him a shrewd glance. ‘How do you know?’
‘I know.’
‘Who with?’
‘Ah, that I can’t tell you.’
‘Can’t or won’t?’
He didn’t reply. They sat silent for a long time, then she turned back to him. ‘Are you a spy, Edmund?’
He laughed. ‘Me? No. I’m a lowly archer.’
‘An archer who travels the country and never seems to be part of the fighting army, who, I hear, follows his prince and talks to him daily, who is close to his family and knows their innermost secrets; who is allowed to leave alone and travel the countryside asking questions?’
It hadn’t occured to her up until now that Edmund had started on his current path while accompanying her and her father on their annual progress through the border country. It was then, after all, that he had first visited the households of the Marcher lords, mixed with their servants, encountered members of the uchelwyr, those Welsh landowners who were almost to a man now supporting Glyndŵr. And it was while in the service of her father that he had come to the notice of the Lord Owain, who had obviously recognised his potential. He was brave, he had contacts, he had initiative and charm; so when he had offered his services as an archer, Glyndŵr had found a better use for his talents. And now Edmund was more mature, more educated, more serious and probably more useful to his prince than Catrin could ever imagine.
She was waiting for an answer. He put his head on one side then he tapped the side of his nose. ‘It seems to me that it is you who are the spy! You are well informed, Cat. As for me, I come and I go. The prince knows you all; he has been to your house; he knows I want to make sure you are all safe. As does he. He values your father’s prophecies. And yours.’ He leaned back and stared up at the sky, the sunlight on his face. ‘I miss you, Cat. I think about you all the time.’ He was still staring up, squinting at a small cloud. He didn’t look at her.
She said nothing for a while. Then, ‘I think about you too.’
‘Annoying, isn’t it.’ He gave a wry smile.
She laughed. ‘Infuriating.’
‘What do we do?’
‘There is nothing we can do. Our lives run on separate paths.’
He sat up and reached for her hand. She was still wearing the prince’s silver ring. ‘Supposing we could do something. Supposing I spoke to your father again?’
‘It would still do no good. He does not intend that I should ever marry.’ She looked at the ground glumly, then turned startled eyes on him. ‘If that is what you meant?’
‘Yes, that’s what I meant.’ He brought her hand to his lips and brushed it gently with a little kiss.
She let out a sob, snatching her hand away from him. ‘Please don’t. He will not countenance it! He wants me to be his servant and there is nothing I can do.’
‘Why not?’ He reached over and caught her hand again. ‘Cat, your father is a selfish bully. I have watched him order you about; I have seen him steal your ideas and suppress your talent whenever he could, I have seen him destroy your confidence. You have only to say the word and we can go away together.’ He paused for a short moment then went on: ‘I want to take you back to Harlech and we can be married there. The Lord Owain would give you to me, I know he would, and if he didn’t I would take you. We will marry somehow. Unless,’ he paused, ‘unless you think I am not good enough for you. If that is the case, then there is no more to be said.’ He was studying her hand, counting her fingers.
She tried to pull away. ‘No!’
‘No, I am not good enough for you?’
‘No, I do not think that. But I cannot leave my tad.’
‘I thought you had more courage than that, Cat.’ He was reproachful.
‘I have enough courage for anyone!’ she shot back at him. ‘But I owe him everything. My mam died when I was born. I took her from him. It is my duty to stay with him.’
‘At the cost of your own happiness?’
‘If needs be, yes.’ She scrambled to her feet. Then she turned and reached down for his hand again. ‘You must go. You were going anyway, weren’t you? You are on a mission for the Lord Owain. You only stopped here to give yourself a pretext for coming to Brycheiniog if anyone should see you. You came to see Joan. Well, you have seen her. Now go.’ She turned away and began to run blindly away from him.
He watched her, running over the rough ground. Her basket of mushrooms lay overturned at his feet.
‘Cat!’ he called. ‘Cat, wait.’
He overtook her easily. Grabbing her arms, he spun her to face him and pulled her close. For a while they stood there in silence, Edmund holding her against his chest, then he raised her chin so he could look into her eyes. She didn’t struggle as he brought his lips down on hers.
When at last they drew apart he found she was crying. ‘Cat—’
She shook her head numbly. ‘Please, go.’
‘But—’
‘But nothing! It can never be, Edmund. Never!’ She moved away from him and retraced her steps to where her basket lay on the ground. Stooping, she scooped the mushrooms back inside, then picked up the basket and put it on her arm.
He stood still, watching until she was out of sight, walking quickly back towards the track which led down into the valley. Never once did she look back. Only when she was out of sight did he move. He glanced up at the steep hillside above them and turned in the opposite direction to the one she had taken. He would walk over the shoulder of the mountain towards the next valley and home to visit his mother. Tomorrow he would head on to Hereford and the real reason he was here.
‘Andy?’ Bryn was watching her as she stood gazing into the brook. She hadn’t moved for a long time. She looked up at him, confused.
‘Edmund? You’ve come back!’
His eyebrows shot up towards his hairline. ‘Nope. Try again.’
She rubbed her eyes.
‘It’s Bryn,’ he reminded her.
Embarrassed, she stepped away from the bank. ‘Oh God, I’m sorry, Bryn. I came out for a few minutes’ fresh air. I must have been daydreaming. What did I say?’
‘You called me Edmund.’ He smiled. ‘I’m flattered.’
‘Flattered?’ She pushed her hair out of her eyes. ‘Why? Do you know who Edmund is?’
‘I do, yes.’
She stared at him anxiously. She could feel herself blushing. ‘You know the whole story then?’
‘Only some of it.’ He gave her a sympathetic smile. ‘Don’t worry, I won’t tell anyone.’ He stepped away from her, turning towards the garden, giving her a moment to compose herself. ‘Your father was asking if I’d seen you. I think he wants to take you out somewhere,’ he said as he walked away. ‘He’s round the front.’
She stood still, staring after him, then she retraced her steps towards the house.
He glanced over his shoulder once. He was laughing.
Rufus was sitting on the bench at the front of the house, staring out across the valley.
He glanced up at her. ‘Were you dreaming? I saw you down by the brook. I thought I would leave you to it, but it’ll be getting cold and damp before too long.’
‘I was dreaming about Cat.’ She couldn’t bring herself to mention Edmund. ‘She was picking mushrooms.’
‘Magic ones?’
She laughed. ‘I don’t think so, though she was in the right place if I recall. No,’ she took a deep breath. ‘She was talking to Edmund. I’m beginning to s
uspect – no, she is beginning to suspect – that he was acting as a spy for the rebels.’
Rufus gave her a sidelong look. ‘And do you agree with her?’
‘I don’t know. I wish I knew more about it all.’ She caught her father’s eye and laughed. ‘I do realise that Cat is almost certainly not a huge figure on the historical stage. She’s not important.’
‘That’s a bit harsh.’
‘I know. But she isn’t, is she, in the great scheme of things. And she’s not a strong enough personality. She’s dominated by her father. Unless she breaks free of him, she won’t achieve anything.’
‘And how do you know she won’t?’
Andy drew breath to reply, then fell silent. ‘I don’t.’
‘Well then—’ Rufus rose to his feet, his hand shading his eyes. ‘Did you see that?’
‘What?’
‘A bright flash on the hillside up there. My guess is that someone is watching us through binoculars.’
‘Rhona!’
‘Could be. She’s not a crack shot, is she?’ He smiled.
‘That’s not funny, Daddy. I have no idea what she is. I only wish she would go away.’ She stood up too. ‘Let’s go round the back. She can’t see us there.’
‘And miss watching the sun go down? I don’t think so.’ Rufus sat down again. ‘I’m tempted to make a rude sign so that she can see we’ve clocked her presence.’
‘She can see that by the way you’re studying the hill. Besides, she’ll have gone by now.’
‘Good. Even more reason not to move. I like it here.’ He stuck his legs out in front of him and crossed his ankles.
A sound on the path made them both look up. It was Bryn, his jacket slung over one shoulder, his canvas bag on the other. ‘Goodnight, folks,’ he called.
‘Goodnight!’ Rufus replied. Andy raised her hand.
Rufus looked at her quickly. She was blushing. He said nothing. It was a long time after Bryn had driven away and the sound of his engine had died in the distance that Rufus turned to her. ‘Go and get your glad rags on. Your father is taking you out to supper, remember?’
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