Lady of Hay

again.

Turning, she started to run once more, stumbling down the steep bank of a ditch. Around her the hills closed in; the mist lapped against the grass and once more there was a rumble of thunder in the east.

Dear God, she had been here before. This place she recognized; it came into her story and was indelibly etched upon her memory.

It must not happen here. Not in front of Nick-not now, not bring her helplessly to her knees alone here, with a man who hated her-

“Jo! Stop, for God’s sake-” His voice was irritated now. “ Jo-Jo, come back… ” It was echoing slightly in the eerie silence of the hills. “Jo…”

26

A visitor was announced as Matilda stood running her eyes down a list of accounts. She was alarmed and astonished to see the king’s brother, whom she thought to be at Gloucester with William. John was bare-headed, his color heightened from the gallop through the chilly morning.

“How is the gracious Lady Matilda this fine day?” the prince inquired with a mocking bow.

“I am honored that you should come to Hay, Your Highness. I am well.” Her voice was guarded and her hands, clasped before her, were unconsciously plaiting her girdle. She saw his eyes running down the line of her body, ever insolent, the pupils hooded by lazy eyelids.

“Good. I’ve come, my lady, from Hereford. No doubt you are aware that my brother, the king, commanded me to demand homage from the princes in Wales.” He stopped. “But of course, your daughter is married to one of them, is she not?” He smiled coolly. “Have you news of her, perhaps?”

Matilda paled and looked away. Since her worst nightmares had been realized and Gruffyd had joined his father in revolt against King Richard, there had been no news of Tilda.

“Nothing, Your Highness,” she replied firmly.

John frowned, as if suddenly aware of her distress. “She is safe, I am sure, Lady Matilda,” he said more gently. “I shall, if you wish, send messengers to inquire.” He smiled amiably as she turned to face him, her eyes alive with hope. “But for now, my lady, I had in mind to visit one of the castles in your husband’s holding, Dinas, somewhere to the west in the Black Mountains.” John took a cup of wine handed to him by a servant and drank it in a gulp. “I hear too that it has a magic spring, blessed with powers of healing.”

Matilda thought rapidly. “The building there is finished, I believe. I haven’t been there yet, my lord, and I have heard the spring has certain wonderful properties. Surely you do not need such magic, Your Highness?” She couldn’t resist the last question, but immediately regretted it, as his good humor vanished and his face became surly.

“I am interested in such places.” He was silent for a moment, the empty goblet dangling from his fingers, his eyes fixed on the wall somewhere behind her. “You have heard, I suppose,” he went on suddenly, “that my brother, the king, refuses to come and meet Lord Rhys at Oxford? I pacify the Welsh princes for him, they agree not to fight while the king is away on his crusade, and I get Rhys to come with me to pay homage to Richard. But Richard is too high and mighty to come halfway to meet him at Oxford as our father would have done.” He held out his goblet for more wine. “Lord Rhys, with all the exquisite touchiness of the Welsh, has decided now that he has been mortally insulted and he refuses to meet my brother or his envoys at all.” John drew his hand impatiently across his brow. “God’s teeth, you can’t say I haven’t tried.” He was silent again for a moment, then, his black mood passing as swiftly as it had come, he grinned at her again. “So you see, I have given myself a few hours to rid myself of my frustrations, madam.”

Matilda tried to force a smile. “I am sure I can find men to guide you into the mountains, my lord, and an escort.”

“I have an escort.” He gestured impatiently. “I need a guide and I should like you to accompany me, Lady Matilda. It is unthinkable that you have not yet visited the castle yourself. It is a duty I am sure Sir William would expect of his wife. He sends you greetings, by the way. He chose to visit Wigmore on his return to his estates. He will be back soon enough, no doubt.” He threw himself into a chair and rested his ankle casually across his knee, his mocking look once more upon her. “I hear you ride with the courage of a man, madam, so I am sure you wouldn’t refuse to come with me on such a small adventure.”

He threw his challenge so lightly she had risen to it without even realizing, the memory of his boyhood insults about her horsemanship suddenly surfacing in her mind. “Of course! It’s not more than a dozen miles…” Too late she sensed danger, and his next words filled her with foreboding.

“A small party, well mounted, could do it in an hour or so, no doubt. Just you and I, madam. The guide and my men. This will be no trip for a bevy of lady’s maids.”

She glanced at him warily, but he was intent on tracing the chased pattern of the goblet with his thumbnail and refused to meet her eye.

“Find fresh mounts for Prince John and his followers,” she commanded suddenly, her mind made up. The waiting servant bowed and turned toward the door. “Saddle my chestnut and tell Ifor the huntsman to be there to guide us to Castel Dinas. We leave at once, then we will be back by dark. Does that satisfy you, my lord?”

He jumped to his feet, grinning like a boy, as he swept up his gauntlets and adjusted the sword belt at his waist. “Indeed it does, my lady.”

The wind freshened as they rode out of Hay toward the west. Ifor, a small curly-headed figure on his raw- boned cob, trotted ahead, a bow slung across his shoulders, while behind followed the four knights who had accompanied John from Hereford. Matilda felt a momentary pang of anxiety when she saw the escort was so small but her pride would not let her press more men on the prince. If he thought four men sufficient for the king’s brother, then so be it.

They rode swiftly, following the narrow but well-marked track that wound around the foot of the hill toward the little trading borough of Talgarth, the horses’ hooves kicking up great clods of the soft red earth. John rode in silence, his mouth set, but she thought she saw a gleam of triumph in his eyes as he turned once to look at her. She whipped her horse to keep up with him. “Ifor is a good man, Your Highness. He will take us by the most direct route. Are you familiar with Brycheiniog?”

“I am not.” He glanced up at the thickly wooded shoulder of hillside to their left. “But I thought I would improve my acquaintance with the de Braose possessions.” Was that innuendo in his voice and in the sidelong glance he sent her? She felt another tremor of warning.

The road was rough and muddy from the recent rain, and the ride took longer than she expected. Parts of the track had been washed away, and Ifor had to lead them away from the smoother ways into the thick woods, where they bent low over their horses’ necks, avoiding the sweeping branches of the trees. Although they had left Hay before noon, the light was already beginning to fail as they trotted into Talgarth. Again she felt the warning prickle under her skin. How were they to return by nightfall if the road was so slow?

She noticed John draw his dark cloak over his hauberk, concealing the intricate details of his brooch and belt. Curious eyes followed them down the main street of the town, and she was glad they had Ifor with them, calling out friendly greetings in Welsh as they passed toward the bridge over the angry red waters of the swift-flowing Enig Brook. The prince’s exasperated report of the failure of the negotiations with Lord Rhys had filled her, once she had overcome the accustomed pang of worry about Tilda, with a sense of foreboding. She knew, as perhaps John did not, just how quickly the vengeance of the Welsh could make itself felt in the valleys of the wild country round them.

The horses climbed slowly out of Talgarth away from the square peel tower that guarded the bridge. Before them lay the mountains. Matilda cursed herself for allowing them to come at all. It was growing late and the slowness of the ride meant that, with the heavy clouds hanging so low over the peaks, it was growing dark, and this was no place to be benighted. Shivering, she pulled her cloak more closely around her shoulders and kicked her mount close up behind John’s. The escort closed tightly about them and they rode in silence save for the occasional clink of harness or the click of hoof on stone. Matilda could see John’s hand on the hilt of his sword as he looked about him. At last he too seemed to be growing nervous. Before them the mynydd-dir rose in a high barrier, misty and black. Behind, the broad Wye Valley was lost to sight behind the band of woods.