They rode hard, not sparing the horses on the rugged path which followed the wandering of the tumbling Rhian Goll, running angry and muddy red with flood waters from the mountains. A cold drizzle was beginning to fall. To their left the great triangular hill of Mynydd Troed rose in a massive shoulder in front of the clouds.
Castel Dinas stood sentinel over the pass. It was an awesome, lonely place. Matilda could feel her horse beginning to tremble, perhaps sensing her own fear. Its ears pressed flat on its head, its eyes staring, it followed its companions as their guides wheeled off the track and turned up a steep turf ramp that led to the walls of the castle itself.
“Open up there,” John shouted into the gale. “Lady de Braose demands entry.” But there was no answer; the gatehouse was deserted.
The horses had come to a rearing halt outside the north entrance. On either side a deep dry ditch encircled the high escarpments of the castle. Before them the gatehouses flanked a strong nail-studded gate. The builders had obeyed William’s orders well so far.
John forced his frightened horse near enough to the gate to allow him to beat on it with the hilt of his sword. “Ho there! Entry!” he shouted, but the wind whipped the words from his lips. Behind them the clouds were flying up the pass, gray, thick, hiding trees, mountains, perhaps men…From the corner of her eye Matilda thought she saw something move below, on the side of the hill. The palms of her hands were sweating with fear and the horse, sensing it, plunged suddenly sideways fighting the bit, poised to bolt back the way it had come.
Then at last a small gleam of light showed in one of the high slit windows of a gatehouse.
“Open up, you lazy clods.” John put every ounce of strength he had left into his shout. “Lady de Braose wants entry to her castle.”
At last they heard the bars being slid back and the great slabs of oak swung open to reveal half a dozen men, drawn swords in their hands, streaming torches held above their heads for light. Piles of dressed stone and mortar, weird white shapes in the gloom, lay all around in the shelter of the bailey’s walls. At the far side the lower part of the new keep showed pale and square, obviously unfinished, in the darkness.
“Who is the constable here?” demanded Matilda. “Why was there no lookout posted? Prince John and I have ridden far and fast. We do not expect to be kept waiting outside like serfs.” Her fear had turned to fury. Gripping her whip, she wheeled the horse. “Shut the gates now, you oafs, before half the countryside wanders in at your invitation. Where is the captain of the guard?”
Four of the men ran to push the gates shut and slid the bars across into the sockets. One of the soldiers came forward and dropped on one knee. “The constable is sick, like many in the garrison, my lady. Forgive him. He did not know anyone was coming.” The man hesitated and looked quickly over his shoulder at his companions. “It is hard to keep a full lookout up here.”
Matilda was not to be appeased. “Hard! Hard to keep a lookout! Then post some more men, sir. I don’t care if you have to carry them up, but do it. You could be attacked and overrun and have the enemy sitting before your fire before you knew he was at the gate.”
“May I ask the nature of the illness that strikes down so many of this garrison?” John’s lazy voice broke in suddenly.
“I don’t…I don’t know, sir. ’Tis very common…”
“They’re all dead drunk, Your Highness.” One of the other soldiers stepped forward suddenly, his face lit by the torchlight showing a scar from eyebrow to chin. “That’s the illness of Castel Dinas. If you’d been an hour or so later I’d have been down with it myself, and probably my fine companions as well. There’s not a man will stay sober the night through here and keep his sanity.”
John looked at Matilda and raised an eyebrow sardonically. “Perhaps we should join them in their merrymaking, my lady. God’s teeth! It doesn’t look as though there’ll be much service here tonight. You, fellow.” He nudged the kneeling man with his foot. “Show Lady de Braose and myself the splendors of your new tower. We need food and wine and warmth.”
The man scrambled up, and bowing, ran ahead of them toward the keep. It was Spartan indeed. A hearth had been built into one wall in the new fashion but it lay empty. Instead a pile of logs burned low in the middle of the floor, the smoke straying through the room and escaping at last through the doorway from which they had entered. Around it were the snoring sleeping figures of a dozen or so men. Goblets and jars of wine had fallen to the floor, and the room stank of stale wine and vomit.
Matilda pulled her cloak to her nose in disgust. “Get them out,” she ordered, her mouth set.
“But, my lady-” The man looked at her aghast.
“Get them out.” She had raised her voice only a little. “Is the hall of my lord and husband going to be used as a pigsty? Get them out and swill the floor.
John looked around and then strode to the staircase in the wall. “Perhaps there is a solar that would be more habitable,” he commented sourly, and ran up, his spurs ringing on the stone. There was a moment’s silence and then she heard him call. “It’s clean and dry here. We’ll make this our headquarters. Fire and lights!” The last words were bellowed in a voice meant to be obeyed.
Her exhaustion and fear and the anger and shame that followed it when she found the condition of the castle had preoccupied her so much that she had for a moment not fully realized her predicament. But now it became obvious there was no chatelaine here, no maids; whatever womenfolk there were attached to the garrison, washerwomen or followers, must, she supposed, return to some local village or encampment at night. There was no sign of them. She paused at the foot of the stairway, the stones still dusty from cutting, and glanced up at the racing shadows thrown on the stark walls by the torch as the man ran up ahead of her. Up there John was waiting. His maneuver, if maneuver it was, of getting her alone to Dinas had worked better than he could have hoped. Her heart thumping with fear, she began to climb the stairs.
With the help of several of the least drunken of the garrison, the solar was made more habitable. There were only planks on boxes provided by the carpenter to sit on, but hay was brought to warm the floor and piles of furs and fleeces, and the wine was good. Cold mutton and rye bread proved the only food, but there was plenty of it, eaten from tin plates on the plank bench.
“I can understand why these men have to get drunk,” John commented, elbows on knees, as he sat chewing a mutton bone. “Sweet Lord, but this is a wild place. What made you think it was complete?” He gave her a mocking smile as he raised his goblet to his lips, and she felt herself blushing.
“We were informed it was finished and garrisoned, sir. The accounts called for no more money for stone.” She sipped her wine, grateful for the warmth it spread through her veins.
“The stone’s all here, I can see that. It’s stacked in the bailey. But the castle’s less than half built.” John threw a bit of gristle into the fire. “No chapel, no stores, no inner wall, no other building save the keep. Only the foundations. I saw them in the dark.”
Matilda shrugged. “Sir William will be furious when he finds out. And as for them all being drunk, they should all be flogged. They shall all be flogged.”
John raised an eyebrow. He was drinking hard, the heavy wine bringing a flush of color to his cheekbones. “You’d enjoy that, would you, madam? We’ll see what we can arrange for you. I intend to hold an inquiry myself as soon as it’s light and they’ve slept it off sufficiently to stand. Don’t worry. They’ll be punished.” He stood up abruptly and hurled the bone across the floor. “Now. For our sleeping arrangements.”
Matilda clenched her fists. “I shall not sleep tonight, my lord. I couldn’t.” She could hardly order the king’s son to go and sleep below in the hall amid the stench and filth. She could only rely on his sense of chivalry. “Our escort will attend you. I shall sit here by the fire.” She stood up and, turning her back to him determinedly, held out her hands to the flames.
“Oh, come, Matilda, that’s hardly friendly.” He was behind her and she felt his hands on her shoulders. “The warmest thing would be for us to lie together, surely.” His fingers moved forward and down until they closed over her breasts.
She caught her breath. “That would not be right, Your Highness.” She gasped desperately. He was turning her to face him, his lips reaching for hers, cutting off her protest as he pulled her against him.
