The Drowned Court, page 21
During Lent, one Sunday afternoon, Haith took her to watch young men holding war games. A swarm of youths, not yet invested with the belt of knighthood, wheeled in circles on horses, burst from the city gates in throngs, armed with lances and shields and exercised their untried skills at arms. Despite the myriad charms that London held for her wide eyes, Benedicta noticed how Haith’s conversation suggested he was missing Pembroke and Wales. He frequently mentioned the Lady Nest ferch Rhys.
‘Don’t be putting your quick thoughts there, Benedicta,’ Haith said, seeing the spark in her eyes, reading her mind. ‘The lady is far above me and happily married.’
‘If that is the case, Haith, then why do you put your thoughts there? If you hanker for what you may not have, then you will never get me a nephew or niece.’
‘And that is my primary use, is it?’
‘Of course!’
‘And have you never hankered for what you may not have?’ he asked, his face turning serious, and she felt the playful smile slip from her own mouth.
At Easter, naval tourneys were held on the river. Haith and Benedicta joined the spectators on the bridge. A shield was bound to a stout pole in midstream and a small boat was swiftly driven toward it, carrying a youth standing in the prow who tried to strike the shield with his lance. If he struck, splintered his lance and kept his feet, he had succeeded, but very often a youth would strike and be jolted into the rushing river. Other youths were moored in vessels waiting to snatch up those unfortunates before they got sucked down and drowned. On the bridge and balconies of the houses, spectators laughed at the spills, or gasped and screamed if they knew the dunked young men and cared for them.
Later in the year, as winter came on and the weather turned to ice and snow, Haith presented Benedicta with a bundle of boy’s clothing. ‘How about you put these on and I show you some fun?’
‘What!’
‘Come on. Don’t you want fun?’
‘Is it seemly?’
‘No.’
She blinked her eyes at him and then stepped into the kitchen to change into the clothes. She felt most peculiar in hose and breeches and was glad to cover it all with her long mantle. ‘Do I get to know the mystery now?’ she asked, presenting herself to Haith.
‘No, but you better put this cap on to keep that stubbly head and your ears warm.’ Shaking the maligned head, she took the cap from him and followed him from the house.
To the north of the city there was a great frozen marsh and Benedicta laughed with glee at the sight of skaters gliding, some with iron-shod poles in their hands and some being pulled on seats of ice blocks like millstones. Haith sat her down and tied animal shinbone skates to her feet. ‘Do you remember doing this when we were small, in Bruges, with mother?’
‘Oh yes,’ she said, ‘I do.’ She grimaced, watching two skaters collide and fall on the ice.
‘Remember, keep your feet apart and you won’t get any scrapes or broken bones.’
* * *
Soon after Christmas, Mahaut was excited at the news that Queen Matilda and King Henry’s daughter, Maud, who was eleven, had been formally married to the German Emperor Henry in Worms Cathedral. Haith watched the child bouncing up and down, from foot to foot, describing how she imagined her own wedding. When Mahaut left, after smacking a wet kiss to Haith’s cheek, he told Benedicta: ‘I just heard that there are plans to build a Benedictine nunnery in London.’ He raised his eyebrows. He knew she was concerned about her future, unsure what she would do when she was no longer needed to contribute to the care of Princess Mahaut. Benedicta nodded, her expression noncommittal.
20
Three Kings
‘You should know,’ Gerald told me, ‘that the king will here within the week.’
I raised my eyebrows in query.
‘He is not happy with the increasing Welsh opposition and has brought a vast army into the north to cow the kings of Gwynedd and Powys.’
This much I already knew from my own sources. King Gruffudd ap Cynan had grown more and more powerful in the north. Owain was allied with the northern king, and had been harassing Gilbert FitzRichard de Clare in Cardigan. My brother had made no move as yet. Henry had been forced to act or see his Norman lords overwhelmed.
Henry’s campaign had been meticulously planned, and it was impossible not to admire his strategy. While he had led an army into Wales from the east, Gilbert FitzRichard de Clare brought troops across the Severn from Cornwall and marched through our lands to the southern border of Powys, and, at the same time, Richard, the young earl of Chester, and Alexander, the king of Scotland, had marched from the north. It had been a bloodless campaign and the Welsh commanders had submitted one by one, coming to terms of fealty with the king. Owain had been the last to submit.
‘Henry’s overlordship oozes everywhere,’ Gerald told me, giving me his assessment of how things stood. ‘Only a fool would omit the royal will from his political calculations.’
I said nothing. I had spent years in close proximity to Henry. I knew well enough who he was, how he was, but I had no desire to remind Gerald of that fact.
‘The king is returning to Westminster, but he wished to pay a visit to Pembroke,’ Gerald said. ‘He has invited your brother to meet him here.’
I hoped this might be a resolution for Gruffudd. If Henry would offer my brother lands and a rich Norman heiress, perhaps they might come to terms.
When Henry arrived, I was momentarily shocked to see how his hair had thinned and greyed. The king was getting old. Our nine-year-old son, Henry, was acting as squire in the king’s entourage and looking very pleased with himself. The king presented Gerald and I with gifts of two beautiful horses. My horse was the purest white and had a very fine gait. I had never seen such a beautiful beast. At dinner, we made conversation about the new archbishop of Canterbury, the marriage of the king’s daughter, and the betrothal of his son.
‘I have knighted King Owain ap Cadwgan,’ Henry said, abruptly, ‘and he has joined my entourage. Of course, I couldn’t bring him here. He will accompany me to Normandy soon.’
Gerald could not suppress the look of fury that crossed his face at the mention of Owain’s name. For an instant, I thought Henry might have taken leave of his senses or did not care about the terrible insult done to me and Gerald by Owain, but in the next moment I realised that while Owain, no doubt, thought King Henry did him a great honour for his valour and importance, Henry simply preferred to keep trouble right under his nose and within reach.
When Henry came to my chamber that evening, I was expecting him. I received him graciously and gave him a beaker of wine. He kissed my hand. He wore a heavily embroidered robe open over his nightshirt and his chest hair swirled at the neck opening, more grey than black now. He saw me looking there. ‘A grey chest, Nest. You remember me in the days of black and wicked youth!’
‘I doubt there is much change, sire,’ I smiled.
‘Running in chain mail gets harder as you get older!’ He considered me for a moment. ‘I believe you are rather happy here, Nest, with your Gerald FitzWalter.’
‘I am, Henry,’ I said quietly.
‘Let’s hope he can keep you safe this time, then. I am weary, Nest. So weary.’
I swallowed.
‘I am so rarely the man, Henry, now,’ he said, ‘that you knew, and ever the vexed king, Henry, Rex Anglorum, Dux Normannorum. I should have married you, Nest, then I wouldn’t have all this trouble with these Welsh princes. Some of them, I hear, you have been getting to know very well.’
‘You would have had trouble with Scottish princes instead, sire,’ I said, ignoring his last remark. I heard a sound at the door. ‘My husband,’ I said, standing.
Henry stood with me. Gerald hesitated on the threshold. ‘The king is retiring,’ I told them both. Henry gave me a reluctant goodnight, and I gave him a grateful smile.
* * *
The following morning, my brother rode into the bailey with a well-schooled entourage of men. The king received him with as much ostentation as his chamberlain could muster from the resources of Pembroke. I was proud to see that my brother, too, comported himself as a king.
‘I ask your fealty, Gruffudd ap Rhys,’ Henry told him. I strained to hear what was beneath their words. I had watched Henry lie so well so many times before.
‘I ask that you give me my rights,’ Gruffudd responded.
‘This territory was won in fair battle from your father,’ Henry said. ‘You ask that I give back what has been won now for many years.’
‘I ask that you treat me fairly.’
‘You are a noble and you require lands of your own.’
My brother waited.
‘This is not a simple matter since all these lands are now in the holding of other lords. If you will be patient and keep faith with me, your overlord, I expect to reward you with lands that will satisfy you, Prince Gruffudd.’
‘You offer me nothing now?’
‘Alas, I cannot. Not immediately, but I am about it. I am a man of my word.’
A man of the art of creative delay, I thought anxiously, looking at my brother’s face, because I knew this would hardly satisfy him.
‘I will wait on your offer then.’ Gruffudd turned on his heel and walked swiftly from the hall, his men keeping tight formation about him.
‘Well!’ exclaimed Henry, turning to Gerald and me. ‘I believe he forgot to give me his fealty there!’
‘I will wish him godspeed!’ I moved swiftly to follow Gruffudd into the courtyard, where he was already mounted and the gates were slowly opening for him.
‘Gruffudd … Gruffudd! Wait a moment!’
‘Sister?’ His horse danced impatiently, turning in tight circles. He stilled it and leant down to me. ‘That is your king, then.’
‘Gruffudd, I urge you, be patient as he suggests. He is a fair man.’
‘Thank you for your counsel, sister.’
‘Please … Gruffudd, consider …’
‘Tell me, Nest, where am I to go? Where can I take my family? The only home I have is the mountains or the marshes. I can only feed my family and those who follow me if I raid.’
‘Don’t let us part in argument,’ I begged him. ‘Gruffudd, you have heard that Owain ap Cadwgan travels with King Henry to Normandy?’
He nodded.
‘Gruffudd, do you trust Owain?’
He smiled. It was a nasty smile. I had seen it on my father’s face when he spoke of Owain’s father, Cadwgan. ‘Owain has designs on Deheubarth himself,’ he said.
‘We both know him and we can both imagine there is truth in that.’
‘Don’t worry, Nest. I am not a fool. God keep you, sweet sister.’
My eyes clouded with tears at his words. He nodded to his men, and they trotted smartly to the gate. I put one hand on my hip and the other to shade my eyes, watching him go.
* * *
King Henry had gone to Normandy, and King Owain of Powys with him. My landless brother, as far as I knew, was making camp in the mountains and I heard that his band of supporters, his llu, continued to swell in numbers, with young men flocking to him not only from Deheubarth but also from Ceredigion and elsewhere. Many older Welsh lords, had, as Gerald said, reached accommodation with the Normans, but those who were dispossessed and the younger Welsh nobility refused this submission and rode to join Gruffudd, so that the bards told how he flew the banner of all Britons now. He signified hope, not only for the kingdom of Deheubarth, but for all the dispossessed Welsh nobility. These Welsh noble companions, the kydmeithyon of my brother, were not satisfied with sarhaed, with meagre compensations for the insults done to them. Instead, they wanted Norman blood, and they wanted land and dignity. Day by day, the bards’ stories of my brother gave back hope to resistance where before it seemed to have burnt out. I knew Gerald was keeping a watch on the situation and there were many things he did not tell me.
I had been staying at Carew for a week with Amelina, my children and my nieces and nephews. I was heavy with child again. Gerald had been away this last week on the border of Ceredigion, and I sorely missed his conversation.
‘Nest!’ My brother’s voice in the courtyard below was urgent. I leant out the window and saw that his horse pulled a bier with a wounded man on it.
‘Bring water and bandages,’ I told Amelina and ran down. The man opened blue eyes and stared at me from the bier. ‘Carry him inside.’
Once he was laid out near the fire, I saw that the injuries I could treat were minor: a shallow cut to his forehead that bled copiously but was soon cleaned and dressed, a few cuts to his arm. I looked with grief for him at the old injuries he carried that could never be repaired. His right hand had been cut off, and the stump cauterised. His right foot had similarly been severed. He was a young man in his early twenties and I felt sorrow for him that he must live his youth with such disfigurement. Gruffudd’s men brought in a crutch that the man was accustomed to move around with. His injuries had caused him to grow asymmetrical with pronounced muscles in the arm and leg of his left side, and limbs atrophied where the amputations had occurred. He must have been damaged in this way as a boy to grow so. I guessed it was the work of a Norman butcher and wondered who the young man was or what he had done to have earned such harsh punishment.
‘It’s nothing,’ he said cheerfully to me, as I dressed the wounds on his good hand. ‘Just a few scrapes from getting through the cistern.’
‘Well done, Hywel!’ Gruffudd told him cheerfully, but his face was a picture of concern.
‘He will be fine,’ I told Gruffudd. ‘Nothing serious here.’
‘Apart from the maiming inflicted by your Normans, you mean,’ Gruffudd said angrily.
I said nothing in response to Gruffudd’s anger but looked back at the man, Hywel, for answer. Now that he was cleaned up, I could see he was handsome, with a cheerful smile, brilliant blue eyes and hair as black as mine.
‘You don’t recognise me, of course. Why should you.’ Unlike Gruffudd, he was all smiles and warmth.
‘No … I’m afraid …’
‘He’s your brother, you idiot!’ Gruffudd said, gripping my arm painfully.
I pulled my arm from his grasp, looking agape at the young man. ‘What do you mean? I have no other brother.’
‘Our brother Hywel! He’s escaped from Carmarthen Castle. I sent him in a concealed message and waited for him beyond the moat.’
‘I don’t understand.’
‘She knows nothing of me, Gruffudd. Why should she?’ Hywel did his best to calm Gruffudd down. ‘Nest,’ he looked seriously at me, focusing my attention, through my surprise. ‘I was born in Carmarthen after the attack on Llansteffan.’ He watched understanding dawn on my face. ‘Our mother died birthing me.’
I shook my head in wonder. I took his good hand, gaping. ‘Hywel! They did not tell me you survived. I heard only that my mother died, and I was led to believe her child died with her.’
‘No!’ he shook his head laughing. ‘Here I am, your little brother!’
I looked between them in wonder. Even Gruffudd had to cease his anger and laugh with me. ‘I thought I was alone,’ I exclaimed. ‘I was alone for so many years. Now, how rich I am!’
Gruffudd’s face turned dark again. ‘But look at what they’ve done to him. Look at it!’ He lifted Hywel’s stump arm and waved it at me.
‘Do they pain you?’ I asked him, gently taking the stump from Gruffudd and holding Hywel’s arm.
‘Not now. It was a long time ago.’ He looked away.
‘Who did it?’ I asked, praying silently that it was not Gerald.
‘FitzBaldwin, who commanded the castle at Carmarthen, then. They were doing their best to wipe us out, eradicate the threat of the royal house of Deheubarth, but they failed, eh? Here we are, three of us!’
I took in a breath of relief that it had not been Gerald who had wielded an axe against the flesh of my newly found brother. I smiled at Hywel through my tears and did not voice my thought that a crippled boy, a woman married to a Norman and a king with no land were not much of a threat. I turned to Gruffudd. ‘So Hywel has escaped from imprisonment?’
‘Clearly,’ he said abruptly. ‘We need to get him out of here to safety before any of your husband’s men discover it and return him to his dungeon or stretch his neck.’
‘I wasn’t in a dungeon,’ Hywel said. ‘There was no need. I had the freedom of the castle, but I’ve never been outside castle walls before.’ He looked around the hall, enjoying the new view, and then back to me, smiling. ‘Nest’s husband was always kind to me.’ At his last words, I flinched. I felt as if the ground beneath my feet had suddenly become water. Gerald had known of my brother, Hywel, and told me nothing.
‘Well?’ Gruffudd recalled my attention. ‘Do you have a suggestion for us, Nest?’
I suppressed the feelings about Gerald that were forming and focused instead on my brothers’ situation. I would return to thinking about Gerald’s deceit later. ‘It would be best to go north to the court of Gruffudd ap Cynan, the king of Gwynedd,’ I told them. ‘You would be out of reach there.’
‘Why not to Owain’s court?’ Gruffudd asked. ‘Powys is nearer. You could send him a letter asking for his patronage and care of our brother.’
‘No. I don’t trust Owain. Go to Gwynedd. I will have Amelina find you supplies. Her husband, Dyfnwal, has a boat at Llansteffan and he can take you past Pembroke Castle and up the coast. The Pembroke garrison know his boat and will not suspect him. I wish we could have time together, Hywel. Time to get to know one another, but if you have escaped without leave of the Norman lords, you should go immediately.’ I looked at him with tears in my eyes and his own eyes filled.
‘Your beauty was not overstated, my sister,’ he said softly.
My acquisition of two brothers, when for so long I thought I had no kin, should have been occasion for joy and yet all I could think was that now I had two causes for anxiety, for distress.
