Barbara Erskine 3-Book Collection: Lady of Hay, Time’s Legacy, Sands of Time. Barbara Erskine
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neck. ‘She thought you might be here, that’s all. It didn’t sound important.’
‘What did she say about Bennet?’ Unmoving, he stared down at her and for a fleeting moment she felt a pang of fear.
‘She said she was going to see him. Nick, forget her –’
‘Did she say when?’
‘Today. I told you, forget her –’
‘When, Judy?’ Nick caught her wrists and disengaged himself violently from her embrace. He sat up. ‘She must not go there alone!’
Judy stared at him in cold fury. ‘So that’s it. She wanted you to take her to her shrink! Is that who he is? “Uncle Nicholas hold my hand.”’ She grabbed the bedspread and pulled it round herself as Nick stood up. ‘Well, you’re too late. She’ll be there by now. He’s probably got her in a strait-jacket already!’
Without a word Nick strode past her into the studio. He picked up his shirt and dragged it on, groping for his shoes. Behind him Judy stood in the doorway, still swathed in candlewick. ‘Nick please. Don’t go.’
He turned. ‘I’m sorry, Judy. I have to be there. I have to stop her if I can!’
The long train of horses and carts which heralded the arrival of William de Braose and his retinue began to assemble in the outer bailey of Brecknock Castle on the first day of May. The serfs and townspeople, out from dawn about their ancient rites, tending the Beltane fires on the moors despite the threats from the priests, returned to find the castle full of men.
Matilda sat in her solar listening with Margaret to the clatter of hooves and the rumble of wheels below, longing to hide. She dreaded the meeting with William, try as she might to remember Gerald’s reassurances, and when her husband’s arrival was at last announced she took a deep breath to still her wildly beating heart and walked slowly down into the brisk spring sunshine to greet him. Dismounting, William looked up at his wife as she stood on the steps above him, his face impassive. He was splendidly dressed in scarlet and green, his mantle clasped by a great cabuchon ruby, his fringed beard neatly trimmed. He strode up the steps two at a time and kissed her hand ostentatiously, taking in with one quick, satisfied glance the swell of her belly beneath the flowing lines of her gown.
‘How are you, my lady? I meant to be with you long before this but the King kept me with him.’
She raised her eyes from the floor to look at him, expecting to see anger and resentment there, but his eyes, behind the sternness of his face, were indifferent.
She forced herself to smile. ‘I am glad to see you, my lord. Very glad.’ Her gaze met his for an instant. He straightened his back, pulling his cloak higher up on his shoulder and when he followed her back into the hall it was with a confident swagger. The moment of nervousness he had felt under the scrutiny of his wife’s cool green eyes with their strange amber flecks passed. He stuck his fingers jauntily into his girdle. He owed her no explanations; nor any man, save the King.
She herself poured the mulled wine which was awaiting him and stood beside him in silence while he drank. When he handed her back the goblet with gruff words of thanks he stood awkwardly for a moment looking at her as though about to say something else. But whatever it was he changed his mind abruptly. He turned away, shouting commands to his men, and left her alone by the fire.
It took only a day for the castle to be transformed by the comforts carried in William’s baggage train. Hangings appeared on the walls of the great bedchamber and cushions and fine sheets and covers replaced the rougher wear lent by the Benedictines from the priory. Two men were sent at once with the Archdeacon’s best chair, up the winding track to his house at Llanddeu.
Matilda continued without interruption her running of the castle, calling before her determinedly one by one the officers of her husband’s household and making it clear that, while they should all continue their duties she intended to oversee their activities herself in future as the mistress of the household, and that the servants she had taken on were to be assimilated into it. To her intense disappointment Jeanne was not amongst the train, and she did not like to ask William why the old nurse had chosen to remain at Bramber. She couldn’t prevent herself from crying about it in the secrecy of the great bed, however. She had so much wanted Jeanne to be there when the baby was born. Jeanne could comfort her and help her, and would know what to do if anything went wrong.
Of William she saw little. He was constantly busy, riding to outlying castles or closeted with his scribes, writing endless long-winded letters which, according to Hugh, kept the clerks so busy that William had to pay them extra money to finish them. At night William slept in an upper chamber above hers. She was heavy and lethargic now, with the baby so close, and had dreaded that he might try to force his attentions on her even though but two months remained until the baby was due, but he remained distantly polite. Of Abergavenny they never spoke at all, and all her tormented questions, so long suppressed, remained unanswered.
It wasn’t long before she noticed the small blonde serving wench so often at her husband’s side, giggling as he pressed sweetmeats and baubles on her. ‘He’ll not grow cold at night, that’s for sure, madam, with that puss to keep him warm,’ Elen commented tartly, seeing her lady’s eyes following the girl round the hall, and Matilda forced herself to smile.
Gerald continued to visit the castle but less frequently. He combined his visits with journeys through the diocese and seemed suddenly even more preoccupied than before with church affairs. Matilda missed his attention and the talks they used to have, but she was less inclined to make any effort now, and thankfully set aside her reading save where she had to go over the household accounts. Now William’s steward Bernard was there to do it for her, and she had only to supervise him and soothe his occasional quarrels with Hugh.
The soft warmth of June succeeded the windy days of May at last. She began to spend long hours in the small garden she was making between the kitchen buildings and the chapel, tending the seedlings she had planted and pulling the ever strangling weeds. Her three women were constantly with her, helping her to her feet after she had knelt too long on the grass and scolding her when she dirtied her fingers in the earth, never leaving her alone, crowding her till sometimes she wanted to scream. She dreamed often of her lonely hillside vigils as a girl, far from crowded castles, and fought to keep herself shouting out loud with frustration.
‘Oh God! When will this waiting be over!’ She rounded on Margaret at last. ‘I shall go mad. How do women put up with it!’
Margaret looked shocked. ‘It’s our place, my lady. We must be patient like the Holy Virgin.’
‘The Holy Virgin was a saint, I’m not,’ Matilda retorted. She pulled viciously at a string of bindweed. ‘If it wasn’t for this garden I would throw myself off the top of the keep. I never dreamed child-bearing could be so awful.’
Margaret lowered her eyes, embarrassed. ‘My lady, it’s not for much longer,’ she whispered soothingly.
‘It’s long enough. Every minute is too long. And we need rain for these god-forsaken herbs. Why doesn’t it rain?’ She stared up, furious, at the clear blue sky, determined to be out of temper. Nearby Nell and Elen were sitting on the wall chatting quietly together, their veils pulled forward round their faces to keep off the sun.
Matilda put her hand up to Margaret’s shoulder and pulled herself heavily from the ground, shaking out her skirts. From the forge on the far side of the bailey came the sound of hammering and the hiss of a horseshoe going into cold water. She looked around, vaguely soothed by the familiar sights, but it was only the promise she had made to herself that once she was free from the burden of the child she would ride up to see Gerald in his own house which bolstered her in the long dreary days. She put her hand to her back wearily. The lying-in woman had been at the castle now for two weeks. The wet nurse had been chosen and sat this very moment on the steps of the chapel, suckling her child in the drowsy sun, oblivious of the horses which stamped around her, waiting their turn at the forge.
Throwing down her trowel, Matilda lowered herself onto the little wall beside Elen. She had had it built