Reynaud’s mouth opened, but it was Father
Herbert who spoke, interrupting.
“This could be a more serious matter than you
think, my lord,” Father Herbert cautioned. “Many of these Welsh are
poor Christians at best, and in spite of all our efforts, they
continue to cling to their old ways. The Church, in its wisdom, has
made laws against the healing arts derived from the old religions
of these lands. Too many such practitioners are women. Learning is
for men.”
“Perhaps,” Reynaud said sensibly, “they are
merely exercising the healing knowledge all women must have, to
tend their own families. These women may only be extending charity
to their neighbors.”
“If that were all, there might well be no
harm in what they do,” Father Herbert agreed. “But from what
Geoffrey says, these brazen creatures have set up practice as
though they were male physicians. No honest Christian woman would
do such work outside the limits of her own home. It is a disgrace
to the feminine sex and an affront to those good Christian
physicians who are, as they should be, men.”
“Midwives are accepted,” Guy pointed out,
“and women in holy orders are sometimes nurses. I heard of an
abbess in one of the German states whose healing powers were said
to be miraculous.”
“But that is just the point, my lord,” Father
Herbert insisted. “The women you have mentioned are all Christians,
functioning within the strictures of the church and subject to its
laws. The creatures Geoffrey speaks of are witches at the very
least, and possibly,” here Father Herbert paused dramatically,
“possibly even heretics!”
“All these Welsh are mad, if you ask me,”
Geoffrey spoke up. “D’you know what one of those fellows I spoke to
said? He said in order to erect a strong building you must first
sacrifice an animal and bury it under the northeast corner. He said
Lord Lionel neglected the ceremony when he began the castle, and
that’s why the wall fell down so easily when the Welsh attacked
it.”
“How interesting,” Reynaud murmured, making a
note on a piece of parchment.
“Merciful heaven, protect us.” Father Herbert
solemnly crossed himself, and Geoffrey followed suit. “We are truly
in a heathen land.”
Guy knew well the things a man’s mind could
do. He had seen men ride cheerfully to their deaths, convinced they
would be instantly transported to Paradise because their mission
was blessed by their god, and he had no doubt the Welsh rebels,
believing Lord Lionel’s castle would fall for lack of a small body
under one corner, had made that belief a reality.
“We must destroy these people,” Father
Herbert was saying. “You cannot in good conscience let them
continue to practice their devilish arts, my lord.”
“We don’t know that they are doing anything
wrong,” Reynaud protested. “All we know is what the local gossips
say.”
“I agree with you, Reynaud,” Guy said firmly.
“We were sent here to build a castle, not to root out native
healers. These women have caused us no problems, the work is going
well, and the workers seem reasonably content. If we, for no reason
that makes sense to them, destroy something that is part of their
heritage, we will make trouble for ourselves that we might have
avoided. That trouble will surely cause delay in building, which
will in turn anger King Henry, and his wrath will fall upon all of
us. Do you want that to happen, Father Herbert?”
“No, my lord, but all the same, something
should be done about these people. Perhaps I should go myself and
try to remonstrate with them. Geoffrey, where is this cave?”
“No one will say. It must be very well
hidden. I tried to find it on my own but I got lost. That forest is
thick, and all trees look alike to me. If I hadn’t stumbled on the
stream and followed it home, I’d still be wandering in there.”
“Magic,” whispered Father Herbert, but Guy
refused to be drawn into further discussion with him.
When the priest and the squire left them,
Reynaud spoke again. “Ancient customs are still found in many parts
of Wales, my lord, and not all of them involve witchcraft. There is
knowledge that could be valuable to us, were it recorded. Some of
the medicines these healers use are said to be quite
remarkable.”
“I thought you were just an architect.” Guy
looked at the cleric, thinking how little he knew about the
man.
“I have other interests as well. I think King
Henry would agree with you about leaving those people in the forest
alone, but Father Herbert is ill-educated and narrow-minded. He
could do much damage were he allowed to treat the Welsh as he
wants.”
“He will do as I say,” Guy said coldly.
“Father Herbert will stay out of the forest. I’ll see to that.
Nothing will be allowed to disrupt work on Afoncaer. The castle is
what is important here. Afoncaer is what matters.”
It was useless to fight the urge any longer.
She had tried for weeks. Now she knew it was a hopeless battle. She
had to see the knight again. Just a glimpse, that was all she
wanted. Meredith braided her hair and covered it with a linen
scarf. The day being cool and cloudy, and her way being through the
shady forest, she pulled a dark grey triangle of wool across her
shoulders, then took up the basket she used for gathering plants
and roots for medicines.
Neither Rhys nor Branwen questioned her. She
went out every day at about this time, so there was nothing unusual
in her going. Nothing but the knot of fear in the pit of her
stomach when she recalled Branwen’s warnings about the Normans.
Dismissing that cautious advice, she fought back the fear and
concentrated on the memory of Lord Guy’s handsome face.
She moved easily through the green lushness
of the forest. It was as much her home as the cave where she lived.
She had only to walk to the stream, cross it at a place she knew
where there were rocks to use for stepping stones, and then walk
the short distance to the castle.
She had almost reached the stream when she
heard a cry, followed by the sounds of branches breaking and of
something falling through the leaves. Meredith stopped, uncertain
whether to run away or to investigate.
“Help!” It was a child’s voice. “Is anyone
there? Help me, someone.”
Meredith recognized the French words from her
lessons with Rhys. It must be a Norman child. That meant it was
someone from Afoncaer. She hurried forward.
“Where are you?” she called. “I can’t see
you.”
“Here. I slid down the hill. I’m covered in
branches.”
She saw the place, a hill so steep it was
almost a cliff, slippery and muddy from the recent rains, and she
saw the line of broken branches and uprooted bushes that had been
grabbed in an attempt to slow someone’s fall. In the ravine at the
bottom of that line was a pile of branches and green leaves. The
pile moved.
“I’m stuck,” the voice said. “I can’t get
up.”
From somewhere at the top of the hill came a
warning growl, and Meredith paused again, uncertain.
“Please,” the voice said, “My leg is
caught.”
Meredith set down her basket and scrambled
down to the spot. She began pulling at the tangle of greenery. A
face emerged out of the leaves. Meredith stopped what she was doing
and stared.
It was the face of a boy about ten or eleven
years old, with blue eyes and golden hair, a face so nearly
identical to that of the Lord of Afoncaer that Meredith was
stunned.
“If you could manage to pull the largest
branch away, I think I can get my leg free,” the boy said.
“What?” Meredith was still staring, unable to
move. She was vaguely aware of another growl somewhere above her on
the hill, this time nearer than before.
“The branch, my lady. That one.” A small hand
pushed its way through the leaves and pointed. “There.”
“Oh, yes, I see it now. I’ll try.” Meredith
braced one foot against a rock, then grasped the branch and pulled.
As she did so, the entire untidy pile collapsed, and she found
herself lying face down on matted, dirty leaves. She started to
push herself up. Her hands slipped on a patch of mud and she went
down again. A peal of childish laughter rang out. Screwing her head
around, Meredith could see that impish, blue-eyed face, laughing at
her.
“Your nose is green and your cheeks are
brown,” the boy said and suddenly Meredith was laughing with him.
He had freed his leg, and now he crawled over the muddy leaves and
broken branches to crouch beside her.
“May I help you to stand, my lady?” He put
out one hand, but he slipped on the wet mess beneath him and went
sprawling on top of Meredith, and once more they laughed together,
helplessly.
The boy managed to get to his feet at last,
and again extended his hand to help Meredith stand. She was on her
knees, reaching for his hand, when the growl she had heard before
sounded again, just above her head this time, and a huge, hairy
creature flung itself on her. Meredith saw a red, slavering tongue
and pointed fangs. She screamed, throwing up one arm to protect her
face, and the hound sank his teeth into the loose sleeve of her
robe, scratching across her forearm.
“Down, Clovis! Down, I say!” The boy was
beating at the dog with a branch. Letting Meredith go, the beast
turned on him, baring its fangs and snarling.
“Down!” the boy shouted again. “Clovis,
down!”
Meredith tried to scramble away, but the dog
attacked her again, catching her shawl in his teeth and pulling it
off her shoulders. Meredith shrieked in terror. She saw the branch
and the boy’s hand, and then the hound was lying on the ground.
Meredith was shaking so hard she could not
stand. Weakly, she leaned against a tree for support.
“Please, my lady, if you would give me your
belt, I’ll tie him up before he wakes. He’s only stunned.”
“My belt?” She could not make her mind work
properly.
“Or your shawl. Do you care if I cut it into
strips?”
“No. It’s torn anyway. Go ahead.” Meredith
slid slowly down the length of the tree trunk and sat on the damp
moss at its base, her arms lying limply at her sides. Dully she
watched as the boy produced a small knife and sliced her shawl into
long pieces, then tied and twisted them together to make a rope. He
fastened one end around the dog’s neck and the other around a
sturdy nearby tree.
“That should hold him. I’ll tell the master
of the hounds to send someone to get him. He should never have
gotten loose from the kennel.” The boy came to sit beside Meredith.
“I am terribly sorry this happened. I told him several times to go
home, but he wouldn’t obey me. Clovis has always been a mean dog,
and he has been specially trained to attack. I think he imagined
you and I were fighting, and he tried to get in on the kill. Are
you badly hurt? Your arm is bleeding.”
Meredith looked down at the wound the dog had
inflicted, then back at the boy. He was richly dressed in a
knee-length dark blue wool tunic, lighter blue wool hose, and one
soft leather shoe. He was covered with mud and bits of leaves and
twigs.
“Your stocking is torn. Oh, look at your poor
leg,” she murmured.
“It’s nothing. That’s where I was wedged
between the rock and the branch. I’d have stayed there forever if
you hadn’t come along.”
“Not forever, surely. Someone would have come
looking for you.”
“You saved my life,” he proclaimed
solemnly.
“You saved mine,” Meredith said, her eyes on
the dog. “Who are you?”
“I am Thomas fitz Lionel,” he said, “son of
the late Lord Lionel, Baron of Afoncaer, and nephew of Lord Guy,
the new baron. May I ask your name, my lady?”
“Meredith,” she said. “No one has ever called
me ‘my lady’ before.”
“It’s because I am a page. We are taught to
hold all women in reverence and always be extremely polite. I
learned that at the court of King Henry.”
“Did you? Why are you a page?”
“It’s part of my training. When I am fourteen
I will become a squire, and when I’m twenty-one I’ll be a knight.
I’d like to be my Uncle Guy’s squire, but he already has Geoffrey.
Do you know my Uncle Guy?”
“I saw him once. You are very like him.”
“I hope so. He’s the finest knight I know.
Shouldn’t you do something to stop the bleeding? Your sleeve is
soaked.” Thomas looked at her arm with a sick expression, and
Meredith repressed the urge to tell him Norman knights were
supposed to enjoy bloodshed. Instead, she made herself stand up,
hanging on to the tree to do so, and discovered her knees were
shaking only a little. Thomas’s young hand on her elbow steadied
her.
“I’ll go home and tend to it.” Meredith
paused, unwillingly giving up her plan to walk to the castle. It
would have to wait for another day. Then, “You are hurt, too,
Thomas. Will you come with me and let me tend your wounds?”
“I would be honored.” Thomas made a funny,
formal bow, the left leg of his hose torn and sagging below his
bruised and scraped knee. “A lady always binds up her knight’s
wounds after the battle.”
“You’d better find your other shoe
first.”
Thomas dove into the leaf pile, scattering
debris about with abandon. He finally emerged, dirtier than ever,
with the missing shoe. He sat down to put it on, then looked up at
her, head cocked to one side.
“You live here in the forest, don’t you? You
are one of the people Geoffrey and Father Herbert have talked
about.” He finished tying the leather thong of his shoe and stood
up. “Shall we go, my lady?”
As Meredith led him through the trees she
wondered if she was doing the right thing by taking Thomas to the
cave. He was a Norman, after all. But he was also a child, and
injured, and he had fought the dog for her sake. Perhaps she could
induce him to keep quiet about the cave and its occupants. He was
intelligent and curious; he might like to have a secret.