out in the air.”
Scolding and coaxing, Margaret and Nell led their mistress back into the cool dimness of the castle, with Elen following unrepentant behind. Matilda lay down as they insisted and closed her eyes wearily, but she was feverish and unsettled and she couldn’t rest. She didn’t go down to the crowded hall for the evening meal and at last as the shadows lengthened across the countryside to the west she sent for Gerald.
In spite of Margaret’s soothing words she became more and more agitated waiting for him. Her hands had started shaking and she began to finger the beads of a rosary. “Holy Mary, Mother of God, spare my child, please, please, spare my child. Don’t let him be blamed for William’s wickedness.” The half-formed prayers caught in her throat as she walked agitatedly up and down the room. When at last, out of sheer exhaustion, she was persuaded to sit down again by the empty hearth in her chamber with Margaret and Nell and two of her waiting women, she felt herself near to panic.
Then they heard the steady slap of sandals ascending the newel stair, and she pushed herself eagerly to her feet. “Archdeacon,” she exclaimed, but she slumped back into her chair disappointed. By the light of the rushlight at the top of the stair she saw the bent figure of Father Hugo.
“A thousand apologies, my lady,” he muttered, seeing her disappointment only too clearly. “The archdeacon is not at Llanddeu. He has ridden urgently to St. David’s where his uncle, the bishop, has died. When I heard the messenger’s news I came myself to tell you. I thought perhaps I might be able to help…”
His voice trailed off as he stood anxiously before her, his face gentle and concerned as he took in the signs of distress in his mistress’s eyes.
Matilda looked up and smiled faintly. “Good Father Hugo. You’re always very kind to me.” She hesitated. “Perhaps I’m stupid, it’s just that I heard about the River Llynfi, and I was afraid.” She lowered her eyes. “It is many months since my husband’s trouble at Abergavenny, but still it haunts my dreams. I was frightened it was God’s warning that my child will suffer.” She looked up again, pitifully seeking reassurance.
Hugo stood staring for a moment, puzzled. He knew from her anguished confessions what she feared for the baby, and he had vaguely heard something about the river. The latter he had dismissed as Welsh talk. He drew his brows together trying to think what would be best to say to this distraught woman. He had had no experience before of females and their ways and groped for the words that would relieve the pained look in her eyes.
“Be at peace, my daughter. God would not punish an innocent babe. The archdeacon has told you as much.”
“But is it not written that the father’s sins shall be visited on the child?” she flashed back at him.
He was taken aback and did not answer for a minute. Then he bent and patted her hand awkwardly. “I will pray. I will pray for guidance and for your safe delivery, as I pray every day. God will spare your child in his mercy, I am certain of it.” He bowed, and hesitated, waiting for her to say something else. When she made no response, he sighed and, backing away, turned and plodded back down the stairs.
She slept hardly at all that night, tossing on the hot mattress, her eyes fixed on the rectangle of starry sky visible through the unshuttered window. Then at last as the first light began to push back the darkness she got to her feet and went to sit in the embrasure of the window, gazing out over the misty valley, watching as the cool dawn crept across the forests reaching towards the foothills of the mountains. Behind her, as the room grew light, Margaret slept without stirring on her truckle bed.
She was sitting in the solar, alone save for Elen, stitching the hem of a small sheet for the empty cradle by the wall, when the chaplain once more padded up the stairs and stood bowing before her, out of breath from the climb. He was agitated and pale himself, but seeing her face with the great dark rings beneath her eyes as she looked up at him, he felt a new and unexpected wave of compassion.
“What is it, Father?” She smiled gently, the sewing falling into her lap.
He twisted his wrinkled old hands together uncomfortably. “I told you, my lady, that I would pray for guidance last night. I knelt for many hours in the chapel and prayed to Christ and St. Nicholas, our patron.” He winced, remembering the draft on the cold stone, which in spite of the straw-filled hassock had left his old knees rheumaticky and swollen. “Then I slept, and I had a dream. I believe it was in answer to my prayer, my lady.” He crossed himself and Matilda and Elen, glancing at one another nervously, followed suit.
“The dream told you the reason for the river being green?” Matilda’s voice was awed.
“I believe so, madam. An old man came to me in my dream and said that Christ was greatly displeased.” He paused and gulped nervously.
Matilda rose to her feet, ignoring the sewing, which fell to the rushes, her eyes wide, one hand straying involuntarily to her stomach. She felt suddenly sick. “Why?” she whispered. “Why is our Lord displeased?”
“It is something that Sir William has done, my lady.” The old man spoke in a hushed voice, glancing over his shoulder as he did so. “But it is something he has done here. He has kept some property for himself that was granted to our chapel. It was to be used both for its upkeep and for works of charity, and Sir William has not allowed the money to come to us.”
Matilda stared at him for a moment in silence. “You’re telling me that Sir William is misappropriating church property?” she said at last.
The old man shrugged apologetically.
She felt like laughing hysterically. “And this is an offense great enough to cause the mountain waters to change their color?” She turned away from him so that he couldn’t see her face. She wasn’t sure whether to laugh or cry. It took a moment for her to get herself under control again. Then she turned back to him. “Have you told Sir William of this dream?” she inquired gently.
He shook his head vehemently.
“Then I shouldn’t at the moment. I shall try to find out whether he is indeed withholding tithes due to the chapel, and whether he is doing it knowingly. I am sure there has been some mistake. He would never take something that was the church’s.”
She waited until he had gone before bursting into tearful laughter, then she shrugged, wiping her eyes, and looked at Elen in despair. “I wish the archdeacon were here, Elen. He would know what to do.” She sighed. “He would know the truth about Father Hugo’s dream, and about the river waters.” She took up the sewing, which Elen had recovered from the rushes, and sat down wearily.
“They are saying, my lady,” Elen began cautiously, “that is, the townsfolk in Aberhonddu and Hay are saying, that the river runs green for another reason. They say it is because of the king’s great sin in taking Walter of Clifford’s daughter Rosamund to be his mistress and casting off Queen Eleanor again.”
She glanced at Matilda shrewdly, her blue eyes merry in her freckled face. “I think it is more likely to be for the sins of a king than of one of his subjects, however great, that the waters of Afon Llynfi should change color, don’t you?”
“I suppose so.” Matilda walked over to the narrow window and looked out across the valley. Sheets of fine rain were sweeping in from the mountains and the smell of sweet earth rose to her from her little garden in the bailey below. She leaned out and sniffed appreciatively. “I pray your story is true, or Father Hugo’s-I don’t care which. As long as the warning is not for me. And who knows, perhaps Margaret was right. Perhaps it is just pondweed.”
“Smelly it is, madam, anyway, Hugh says,” Elen put in briskly. “He thinks it’s because there’s been no rain, simple as that it is. And now this morning the rain has come so we’ll soon know if the green all goes away. And your plants will be pleased by it, so they will!”
“Rosamund Clifford,” Sarah whispered. “Do you think she was an ancestor of hers?”
Bennet looked away from Jo’s face, suddenly thoughtful. “Ancestral memory? Transferred genetically? I’ve read some interesting papers on the subject.” He shrugged. “I don’t believe it myself, but we’ll have to see what part this Rosamund plays in the story. I should wake her now.” He glanced at his watch. “She’s getting tired. She has lived through six months in that world of hers.”
“Oh, wait, Carl. Can’t we find out about the baby-I know she would want you to ask about it-” Sarah broke off suddenly as the door behind her opened.
