I wondered, and then did not wonder, that he chose to send me rather than David, who equally would know and be known to the Lady Gladys. But David was a prince of the royal blood of Gwynedd, and should be venture his head into a castle held by the English, might not get out again so easily as a mere clerk of no importance to them. And Llewelyn, not to speak of the risk to David, would not give them a hold upon anything that could be used in bargaining against him. It was strange that he had so shrewd a grasp of the devious mind of King Henry, whom he had met but once, and under great stress. But without hate or bitterness he had always a very accurate understanding of his opponent. With other opponents, later and of greater malevolence, he was less expert, having no such qualities within himself as those he was required to combat in them, and having to guess at malignant strengths instead of weaknesses, for which latter he had always a humble man's compassion and generosity.
So I said, glad beyond measure to be so trusted by him, that I would do all I could to be of service to the Lady Gladys and to him, and would find her if I could, and if I could, induce her to come home to his court. That phrase pleased him, for he would have liked to believe she might look on it as a home. He had it always in his mind that he might have been the death of her lord, against whom he bore no malice, but whose challenge he could do nothing but accept.
"Do not come back here," he said, "for we shall be gone. But make your way northwards to Cwm Hir, for we'll make a halt at the abbey there. And if we're gone from there, they'll furnish you with horses and provisions, and come after us to Llanllugan and Bala on your way to Aber. Somewhere along the road you'll overtake us. For," he said very sombrely, "if you do not find her today or tomorrow, I fear she is lost to us both. And when you are certain of that, then come, even without her. For you I cannot spare."
Then I kissed his hand, which was rare between us, and always at my will, and I went.
CHAPTER VIII
I took with me as guide one of Meredith's drovers, a man named Hywel, who knew that countryside from Dynevor to Brecon and beyond like the lines of his own hand, and we rode hard over the first stages of the journey by the nearest and openest road, for the Lady Gladys had a night's start of us, and to the castle of Brecon it was but a matter of twenty-seven or twenty-eight miles cross-country. My hope was that with the night and the cold coming on, she would have taken the children but a part of the way, to get them safe out of our shadow as she thought, and then sought shelter until daylight in some homestead, for after our Welsh fashion the households there were scattered widely rather than grouped in villages, and hospitality would be given without question to any who came benighted. So I trusted by pushing quickly over the first ten miles either to be ahead of her, and intercept her nearer Brecon, or at worst to overtake her before she withdrew into its walls.
It was barely light when we rode, and the sky was heavy and leaden-grey with the threat of snow, but in the night there had been only sharp frost, and riding was easy. We climbed out of the vale of Towy, up on to the hill ranges where Hywel led us, half heath and half forest, according as the ground folded and the winds swept it. For wherever there was a hollow or a cleft, there the trees grew dark and thick. Twice we encountered shepherds, and twice passed homesteads, and wherever there was creature to ask we asked for any word of our party, and at the third asking, at a hut in an assart of the heathland, we got an answer. They had passed that way indeed, some hours into the darkness, and halted to ask milk for the children, and a warm at the fire. The woman of the house had begged them earnestly to bide the night over, but they would not. She knew her lady, and was in no doubt what visitors she had entertained at her fireside. Nor had she any fear of us, to urge her to silence. They were then, it seemed, some ten hours ahead of us, and had not thought fit to brighten my hopes by halting for the night, at least not so soon. So we pressed on again as hard as we might. And then, with the rising of the sun, though veiled, towards its low winter station, and the change in the frosty air, the threatened snow began to fall.
We left the bare uplands of the Black Mountain on our right hand, and kept to the shoulder track, for much of the way in thick forest. And there we found grim traces of the fight of yesterday, though not, at first, of those we pursued. Among the bushes we came upon a riderless horse, wandering uneasily and cropping, and then stumbled upon the body of his rider, fallen weakened by loss of blood from a great lance-wound in his side, and dead of cold in the night. A second dead man, an archer, a mere hummock in the new-fallen snow, we stumbled over at the end of another mile. These, too, had fled the field and made for the distant shelter of Brecon, only to die upon the journey. We saw in many places the traces of harness flung away to lighten the load as the horses tired.
Then we sighted among the bushes a man who went sidelong and in haste from us, clutching his thigh and hobbling from a lance-thrust in the flesh there, and him we encircled and brought to a stand, and so got word of our quarry again. For he had seen them pass, as he told us readily once he found we meant him no further hurt. He was one more who had fled the field, but he did not know what had become of his lord, for in that falling night every man had made his own way as best he could. He said he had seen and heard a company ride by towards Brecon, briskly but not at a great speed, nearly an hour ago, but had not known who they were, except that there were women among them, and he thought children. We supposed they could be no other but the party we were seeking. The snow being now a fair depth, we might even be able to follow their tracks if we made haste, though the flakes were still falling, and in half an hour or so might obliterate all. They must have rested for the night, as I had hoped, but at some refuge of which we did not know, to be now so close.
We gave the wounded man the masterless horse we had led along with us, and mounted him, and sent him back to the safety of Dynevor, telling him he had nothing to fear if he would serve Meredith ap Rhys Gryg as he had served Rhys Fychan heretofore. And he went very gladly, for lamed as he was, he would have had hard work of it to get forward to Brecon or back to Llandeilo on foot, and one more night of frost might have been his death, as doubtless it was the death of many more who had scattered wounded from Cwm-du. And we hurried on, in high hopes now, and presently spied, in a place where the snow had creamed and drifted, the gashes where several horsemen had driven through the wave. The crude edges they had cut were already softening out again into curving shapes the wind might have blown, but Hywel recognised them still for what they were.
We spurred the more at the sight, and traced the same passage here and there along the forest track. Then, crossing a crest and having an outlook beyond for perhaps half a mile, and in a lull when wind and snow had eased, leaving the air almost clear, we caught one glimpse of them in the distance, as a knot of dark movement upon white, between the dappled darkness of the trees. By the same token, they glimpsed us, and knew they were followed. I suppose they had been casting glances over their shoulders at every stage of that upland journey. They set spurs to their mounts at once, for we saw their speed quicken.
So, too, did ours. Had the snow held off longer, I would have galloped on ahead alone, leaving the rest to follow me more steadily, to show that I came with no ill intent, however urgently. And I think by the time I had drawn clear of my own men and nearer to those who could very easily deal with one lone man if they so pleased, she would have considered, and wondered, and been willing to listen, even before she knew me or I could name myself to her. But I was not many paces ahead of my company when the wind rose again, and drove the renewed snow in white clouds across the forest track, so that we could see but a few feet before us, and must not only ride blind, but check our speed a little or come to grief. Nevertheless we made what haste we dared, and ours was the downhill run, while they would soon be climbing again, and I knew we could overhaul them.
But when next the torn curtains of white parted for an instant, the track before us, an uneven ribbon of white between two belts of black, was empty of them.
"They'll have taken to the forest," cried Hywel. "There's a track down through the woods, by the brook-side to the Usk valley. They'll be hoping for a faster and easier ride by that road, now they know we're after them. It's longer by a few miles, but better going once they're in the valley."
We came to the dip where the brook crossed, coming down from the higher mountains on our right, and a narrow track bore away downhill to the left beside the water, which was no more than a trickle wandering through the icy stones. The snow lay more thinly there, by reason of the overhanging trees, which carried the bulk of the fall, and under the layer of white the leaves and pine needles were thick and springy, dulling the sound of our hooves, so that we hardly wondered at hearing so little from those ahead of us. We halted for a moment and held quite still to strain our ears, and caught the sharp snap of a fallen branch trampled and broken, and then the distant clash of a hoof against stones, where rock broke through the litter of needles for a moment.
"There they go!" said Hywel, satisfied. And there went we after them. The path sloped but gently at first, and was much smoothed out by the silt of years under the trees, making very passable going. And we were somewhat sheltered by the closer stand of firs and bushes from the coldest of the wind and thickest of the snow. Sometimes we caught again the sound of hooves on stones, ahead of us, or plunging dully into earth where the slope grew steep. And once, where the trees fell back, and the torn veils of snow whirled away from us for a moment, I had a glimpse of horse and rider between the trees ahead, and caught my breath in too hopeful relief, seeing the fold of a long skirt swaying beneath the hunched cloak, and above the collar, which I thought to be furred, the drift of a white scarf tied over a woman's head against the rudeness of the wind.
I said, though surely no one heard me, for we had not slackened: "It is she! She is there ahead!" And I shouted after her against the wind at the pitch of my voice: "Lady! Wait! Here are only friends!" But I doubt those ahead did not hear. Or if they heard, they did not trust. So we continued this strange pursuit. "I am Samson," I bellowed, "the servant of your house! Wait and speak with us!"
But ahead, the trees had taken the one glimpse I had of her, and now the wind rose, and we could not even hear mark or sign that those we followed still lived and moved before us.
Then I dreaded I did wrong to follow and affright her, since she rode so fearlessly and well on this downhill path, for by her vigour and resolution it was plain that she would endure into Brecon, and I need have no misgivings concerning her. Yet I remembered Llewelyn, and the hurt he felt in being so divided from his only sister, and above all I was his man, as David had once said of me, and wanted no release from that bond. So we followed still, and harder than before, to reach her at last with voice and spur.
"Now I hear nothing," said Hywel, checking in the middle of the way, with ears pricked and head reared. "Halt, and listen!" And so we did, holding our breath, but there was not a sound ahead, though the wind had somewhat veered, and blew towards us. "They must still be ahead," he said. "Where else could they go? The going is softer below, they'll have reached the open turf."
So we went on, to the meadow levels nearer the Usk, where the forests fall back, and the track opened into a valley road, easy to ride. But we saw and heard no more of them.
"They'll have gained," he said, "once down here. We'd better ride hard."
My heart misdoubted then that we had somehow been deceived, but we had no choice but to pursue it to the very walls of Aberhonddu, below Brecon castle, for whether our quarry had shaken us by one route or outrun us by the other, I had to know the end of it. So we galloped, for in caution there was now no gain.
Thus by the valley road we came within sight at last of the bridge over the Usk, across which was our one approach into Brecon. The snow had all but ceased then. We could see the terraces of the hills declining on our right hand towards that same gateway, and we knew that the direct track descended by that ridge. Very plainly, and much ahead of us, we could see the little group of horsemen and horsewomen—for there were several women—galloping down that pathway and on to the approaches of the bridge, where there were other horsemen waiting to receive them and escort them within. There was no longer any sense in haste, we were out-distanced. To go nearer would be only to invite pursuit in our turn.
I drew rein, and so did all those with me, and we watched that reception at the bridge-head, and it was courteous to reverence. Among the several women there I could not distinguish, from the distance where we sat at gaze in the shelter of the trees, the one I had been sent to solicit, but of her welcome into Brecon I could be in no doubt. Whether her lord was there before her was something I could not know. I knew I had lost her. But also that I could at least report her safely in haven with the children.
"In the name of God, then," said Hywel, staring, for he had seen what I had seen, "who was that woman we followed down the stream? And was she, God forbid, alone? For in that soft nibble and snow we could have been riding down one horseman or ten."
I had the same thought in my mind, for it was clear enough how we had been fooled. Under cover of the squalls, and knowing that with the children to carry they must be overtaken before they could reach Brecon, the company had drawn off into the trees on the hillside above the track, while a decoy lured us away down the valley path. And when we had taken the bait and were in full cry towards the Usk, with a glimpse of a woman's cloak to keep us confident, they had returned to the hill track and ridden hard for the town. But if that was true, then one person at least had been abandoned in the forest. And if only one, then a woman. Not one of us, as we agreed, had seen a second figure.