Sleeper’s Castle

by Barbara Erskine

  ‘I’m looking forward to it.’

  ‘You’ll have to tell me where though.’

  They went to the Old Black Lion. It was the place Catrin and Joan had left their pony on that market day six hundred or so years ago, when a town wall had surrounded Hay. They chose a table in the corner near the fire in the heavily beamed bar and had a leisurely meal, then sat for a long time over their coffee. It was as Rufus was beginning to think about calling for the bill that Andy turned to him. ‘Do you remember when I was a child we used to travel together.’

  He was patting his pockets, looking for his wallet. ‘Travel, you mean to France—’ He broke off. ‘You mean into the past?’

  ‘We did, didn’t we? I’m not making it up?’

  He whistled through his teeth. ‘No, you’re not making it up. But, Andy, I’m not sure it actually worked, to be honest.’

  ‘It worked, Daddy, I know it did.’

  ‘Girl, I pretended it was real.’ For the first time that she could ever remember, he looked flustered. ‘It was like a bedtime story. Sometimes when you were little you were frightened to go to sleep. Your dreams scared you.’ He paused with a frown and looked up at her. ‘Even when you were very small you dreamed, Andy. You didn’t need a special house to do it in. I would try to reassure you. I would tell you to go to sleep and dream and your daddy would be there too, to look after you.’

  ‘But you were there?’ It sounded like a plea.

  ‘I wanted to be there. I would watch you as the fear went away and you began to relax; I would close my eyes as you did and I would try so hard to be with you wherever it was you were going. Sometimes, most of the time, you slept quietly – at least, to start with. But sometimes …’ He looked down at the tabletop, his face a picture of anguish. ‘I could see your little face begin to move, to change, and your eyes would open even though I knew you were still asleep – and I could see the terror in them. I wanted to be there for you, Andy, so badly, but I didn’t know how. When you started to cry and scream, your mother would come and she would wake you and hold you tight until you calmed down. She used to blame me for frightening you.’ An expression of acute sadness crossed his face.

  Andy stared at him mutely. ‘But, Daddy, you were there for me. I can remember in my dreams. You would come; if I looked and looked, I knew you would be there like a knight in shining armour. You would always come …’ Her voice died.

  ‘I’m so sorry, darling.’ He sighed. ‘To be honest, I’ve never been that much of an expert on all this stuff. You’ve remembered it wrong. It was such fun doing all those things with you. I wanted to believe in ghosts. I loved our visits to haunted houses and old castles. I loved the idea of ghosts, but whether I actually saw any …’ His voice drifted into silence.

  ‘Excuse me, sir,’ an apologetic voice broke in. ‘We’re closing soon.’ They looked up and realised that the room was empty. The waiter had been turning off the lights one by one behind the bar. Rufus glanced at his watch. It was almost midnight. ‘Oh my goodness, I’m sorry.’ He stood up. ‘I had no idea it was so late.’

  In the car park behind the pub he groped for her hand. ‘We remember things differently, Andy. Everyone does. It’s part of the mystery of time. I want to be there for you, I really do, and I will try, but I can’t promise. From what I’ve heard of him it is Meryn you must go to now; he will know what you should do.’

  They climbed into the car in silence.

  When they reached the house Andy directed Rufus on up the lane. It was a clear night and the mountains were stark silhouettes against a starry sky. He pulled off on the flat grass and turned off the engine. They walked a little way up one of the sheep tracks. The air was cold and still, the stars glittering in an obsidian-black sky. A sheep bleated in the silence and far away it was answered by the high-pitched call of a bird. Andy shivered. ‘It’s beautiful, isn’t it.’

  Rufus reached out for her hand. ‘You don’t have to go on with any of this, Andy. You could come home with me. Forget about Sleeper’s Castle. Bryn could look after the cat. The house would be safe in his hands.’

  ‘It would, wouldn’t it.’ She was looking up. ‘There’s Cassiopeia.’

  ‘Called by the ancient Celts, Llys Dôn,’ Rufus said. ‘You are in Wales now, Andy, I think that’s the better name for it.’

  ‘Is that what Catrin would have called it? I’ll ask Bryn what it means.’

  She didn’t notice the glance he gave her.

  ‘Shall we go back?’

  She was still looking up. ‘Tad – look, a shooting star!’ The silver streak in the sky flashed over their heads and was gone. Neither of them noticed what she had called him.

  Joan was stirring a pan of pottage on the fire when Catrin opened the kitchen door and stepped inside. Joan dropped the spoon. ‘So, did Edmund find you?’

  ‘Yes.’ Catrin took off her cloak and hung it on the back of the door. ‘He remembered where the mushrooms grew. I had told him about them apparently.’

  Putting her basket down on the table she did not notice Joan’s expression. Joan pursed her lips. ‘Your father has been calling for you.’

  It was Catrin’s turn to let her face betray her. She considered turning round and going outside again but she overrode the urge and with a sigh headed towards the inner door. Joan turned back to her pottage.

  Dafydd was standing staring down into the fire in the great hall. ‘Where have you been?’ he asked testily as Catrin appeared.

  ‘Collecting mushrooms.’ Automatically she went over to the log basket. She threw a lump of oak onto the flames. ‘Why did you want me?’

  ‘I need you to be within call, Catrin!’ he said. He was wearing his fur-lined houppelande and had pulled a short cloak round his shoulders, practical but expensive items he had brought back with him from his last travels, but still he was shivering.

  ‘Well, I’m here now.’ She stood beside him, gazing into the flames.

  ‘I need you to go down to Hay,’ he said at last. ‘I have to know what is happening.’

  ‘We would have heard if anything was happening,’ she said patiently. ‘You know how fast word travels.’

  ‘No, I need you to go. I dreamt that the king’s army was close by.’

  ‘And you no longer trust your dreams?’

  He looked up at her. ‘How can I, when they are so often wrong?’

  She felt a wave of compassion as she saw the misery and uncertainty in his eyes. With a sigh he pulled his cloak even more tightly round his shoulders and turned to walk back into his study. He closed the door behind him. Catrin stood for a while where she was then slowly she made up her mind. She let herself out of the front door and made her way round to the back of the house. She crossed the garden and, looking round to make sure she was not observed, she took the path towards the cave.

  The darkness closed round her with its usual stillness. The acrid smell of bat droppings and the dusty bitter-sweet scent of dried fern surrounded her. She had left a coarse brychan spread over a pile of fern and she sat down on it. At the entrance of the cave there was a sliver of faint light; the last of the evening was draining into night. She could hear the bats beginning to rustle and stir overhead. Soon they would fly one by one out of the entrance and she would be alone.

  Edmund was riding up an avenue of elms towards a large house. She didn’t recognise it, nor the men he spoke with, quietly, in the shadows. She saw him pass letters to one of them, she saw them direct him to the kitchens where he would find food, she saw him flirt with the kitchen maids, she saw with an aching heart one of the ladies of the house, a daughter presumably, petite and slim and pretty in a rich kirtle and surcoat, who just happened to be there, who smiled at him and flirted with her eyes and laughed at his jokes. He was at ease with her; he went on eating, he enjoyed the audience of cooks and maids and servant girls.

  Then he was gone, back on his horse, and it was a fine horse, not a mountain pony, and he was wearing good clothes, not ostentatious but w
ell made, cantering back down the long avenue and out onto the open road, heading north now towards the next manor house or castle or farmstead, with the next letter. She watched as he journeyed on, wondering if he were aware of her longing eyes, trained on his back. Once or twice she saw him look round, saw him frown and give a little shiver as if he knew someone was watching him. She looked down at her own worn gown and mantle, her scuffed working shoes and even in her dream, she sighed. Somehow Edmund, the farmer’s son, had transformed himself into a trusted messenger, working for Prince Owain and his court.

  The dream changed. She could see the prince now with his royal household. He had secretaries to write his letters, he had advisors to stand beside him as he wrote to the kings of Scotland and France, to the pope himself, to the disaffected nobles of England who, like him, were enemies of his neighbour, the man he called Henry of Lancaster, who called himself the King of England. Her father was right. All his warnings, his fears, his nightmares of blood and slaughter had been wrong. Blood and slaughter there had been, but Owain had won, he had triumphed and the new Prince of Wales was a true-born Welshman, descendant of ancient lineage, foretold by Merlin and Taliesin and yes, by her father too, and all of Wales had risen to support him against their overbearing, vindictive English neighbours.

  But …

  In her dream she shivered. She could see the shadows closing in once more. She was no longer in a royal castle. She heard shouts and smelled smoke. She saw men marching, banners held high and then she saw the banners lying trampled in the bloody mud of the battlefield. She could see no faces, recognise no escutcheons on the breastplates of the knights. She heard a horse scream and saw the lance snap as it pierced its chest. The destrier fell and with it its rider, pinned under it, his leg twisted and snapped in three places. The man who thrust a sword through his ribs did no more than a farrier would, killing man and horse to put them out of their pain. Where were they, the men who led this battle, Prince Owain and Prince Hal? They had given orders to their followers, but it was impossible to see through the rancid smoke. And then they were fleeing. Men-at-arms and archers, their arrows spent, turned and ran for the shelter of the woods, their morale gone, their courage failed at last. But who had won? She couldn’t tell. These were the men of her country, the neighbours and friends she knew, brother fighting against brother, cousin against cousin. Their houses were burned, their churches desecrated, their fields destroyed. She could feel herself there, on the edge of the battle, watching as the armies faded away into the mist, into the silence which was engulfing the scene – the silence of death.

  ‘Andy, wake up.’ The voice was quiet but persistent. ‘Come on. Don’t go there now. We must go home.’

  Andy was reaching back into the dream, fighting the voice; she didn’t want to come back.

  ‘Andy. Now.’ The voice was stronger, louder.

  ‘Tad?’ She felt a hand gripping hers and she clutched at it. Opening her eyes, she looked round, startled. She and her father were standing on the hillside in the dark. It was bitterly cold.

  ‘Cat was in the cave,’ she said in confusion. ‘She was trying to see the future.’

  ‘I want us to go home, Andy.’ Rufus pulled her after him. ‘We can talk about Catrin later. It’s very cold up here and very late. Come on. Back to the car.’

  The kitchen was warm and cosy when they let themselves back in. Pepper was curled up on his chair asleep. He glanced up briefly and closed his eyes again.

  Andy shut the door and drew the curtains, then she turned to her father. ‘We were going to try and travel together,’ she said.

  ‘I think I told you, Andy, it isn’t possible,’ Rufus replied gently. ‘Do you realise how late it is? You must go to bed and tell yourself firmly that you don’t want to dream any more tonight. You’re exhausted.’

  Andy shook her head sadly. ‘If only it was that easy. I’ve told you. I can’t switch it on; I can’t switch it off.’

  ‘And yet you can if you travel in the present. To Kew.’

  She sighed. ‘I’m not even sure about that any more. Please. Let’s try. If it doesn’t work, we can forget it and go to bed. Remember how you used to do it with me? We would sit on the sofa together and hold hands and you used to say, “Close your eyes, Andy, and wish you were somewhere else,” and I used to say, “Where shall we go tonight?” and you used to choose somewhere, and then you would count us down.’

  ‘And then you would fall asleep, Andy, and when you were little I would carry you up to your bed and when you grew too big to carry I would put a blanket over you and leave you on the sofa to sleep.’

  ‘Until Mummy found out what was happening and told you off.’ She smiled at the memory.

  ‘She thought I was frightening you.’

  ‘Only because the dreams could be a bit frightening and sometimes, when I looked for you in my sleep, you weren’t there.’ She bit her lip.

  ‘I was never there, Andy,’ he said gently.

  ‘Let’s try. Just to make me happy.’ She reached for his hand. ‘Come and sit beside me on the sofa.’

  ‘You’re a persistent child, aren’t you!’ he said.

  She nodded. ‘Always was. If it doesn’t work I’ll never mention it again, I promise.’

  They sat down by the light of a single table lamp in the corner of the room. Andy reached for the throw, which lay over the back of the sofa, and pulled it over their knees. ‘Ready?’

  ‘You’re scaring me, girl,’ he said with a smile. ‘What if it works?’

  ‘Then we will watch together and you will be with me to keep me safe.’

  He gave her a sharp look. ‘Oh, Andy! I’ve explained—’

  ‘I know. Don’t worry. I’m only observing, hearing her story.’

  He took a deep breath. ‘Well, I’m tired enough to sleep! Racing around on the mountains after midnight is a bit retro for an old chap like me. So, come on, girl, let’s be quiet and close our eyes. See you in the morning.’

  ‘You have to hold my hand, Tad.’ Andy groped for his hand under the rug and held it tightly.

  Rufus found his mouth had gone dry. He lay back and closed his eyes. Suddenly he felt afraid.

  They were both asleep within minutes. For Andy it was like opening a door. She stepped through, staring round eagerly. Where was she? Where was Catrin? Then she heard it, the thunder of hooves, the jingle of harness and spears, carried on the wind up the valley. There were shouts and in the distance a shrill, terrified scream. Frightened, she drew back. ‘Tad—’

  She felt his hand warm and reassuring in hers, then he was pulling away. She grabbed at him desperately, she lost her grip and flailed about, trying to find him in the dark, but it was no use, he was gone.

  23

  ‘Catrin! For the love of the Blessed Virgin come away; come and hide!’ Joan had caught her hand. ‘Quickly. We’ll go to the cave.’

  Andy stirred restlessly. It was a different season, a different year. Both women looked older and more careworn.

  ‘Tad?’ Catrin was frantic, looking behind her.

  ‘He’s not there, I looked.’

  ‘Who are they?’ Catrin could feel herself beginning to tremble as she followed Joan towards the door into the garden.

  ‘It doesn’t matter who they are,’ Joan retorted. ‘They are armed men and if they find women alone in a remote place like this they all act the same. Come on!’

  They ran down the garden path through the rain, fighting their way through the brambles and nettles that had grown across the path over the summer. Someone had piled brushwood in front of the cave entrance. Joan pulled it aside and pushed Catrin through then she turned and, her breath coming in short quick gasps, she pulled it back across behind them. She put her finger to her lips and whispered, ‘They may not even come up the track. With luck they are heading west and will ride on together.’ They crouched side by side in the dark, waiting. ‘Where are Betsi and Megan?’ Catrin breathed.

  ‘Long gone into the hills.
It was Betsi who told me they were coming. She had been down to the next farm; it is a large army. They are handing out pardons to people who throw themselves at the king’s feet and beg for mercy for taking part in the revolt. You can’t say he doesn’t keep trying to win people back!’

  Catrin stared at her unseeing in the dark. ‘You seem to know an awful lot about the king’s plans!’

  ‘So does everyone. He has made it his business to inform the whole country. If you took your nose out of your books once in a while, you would know too.’ Joan broke off. She clutched at Catrin’s sleeve. ‘Listen!’

  The two women strained their ears through the sound of the rain on the trees and bushes outside the cave entrance. They could hear nothing. Catrin tiptoed away towards the back of the cave. She had had no time to grab a cloak or a shawl and she was shivering. She hugged her arms around herself and leaned against the ice-cold wall, closing her eyes against her terror. ‘Where is Tad?’ she asked. ‘I didn’t hear him go out.’

  Joan was still by the entrance, peering through the brushwood. ‘I don’t know. He wasn’t in his study or upstairs.’

  ‘They wouldn’t hurt him, would they? An old man on his own?’

  Joan glanced back over her shoulder. ‘Your father is not old, Catrin.’

  ‘He is by most people’s standards!’ Catrin retorted. To her he seemed as old as time itself. His obsession with the past, with people’s ancestry, with legends and myths and the Wales of yesteryear had rooted him in the past he seemed to live in.

  ‘Well, however old he is the soldiery is not renowned for its respect of anyone,’ Joan said succinctly. She turned back to her spyhole.

  ‘Surely they won’t bother to come up the track?’ Catrin went on quietly. Her teeth were chattering. ‘They must look forward to getting to their next billet and a campfire in this weather. I’ve heard they hate the Welsh weather. They think the Lord Owain has magical powers to call down the clouds and storms over them.’