The Anarchy, page 28
When the early summer flowers were in bloom, I took Maredudd and Rhys to visit the field below Kidwelly Castle, where Gwenllian, Morgan, and Maelgwyn had died. We stood on the steep scarp overlooking the Gwendraeth Fach and looked up at the formidable earth and timber ring-work fortification that Gwenllian had attacked. Its landward side, which we had ridden past on our way here, was protected by a crescent-shaped earthwork with a wooden palisade. Inside the wall, the great hall was built in stone. I led Maredudd and Rhys to a spring on the hillside and we laid three bunches of flowers in memory of their mother and brothers, my sister and nephews. ‘We cannot linger here,’ I told them, and we walked with grieving hearts back to our horses for the short ride to Llansteffen.
Unrest and skirmishes were everywhere. Rumours flew that my brother was returning toward Cardigan at the head of a great Welsh army, together with Owain and Cadwaladr, the princes of Gwynedd, and they were intent on avenging the deaths of Gruffudd’s wife and sons. A messenger had just come from Pembroke to warn us the Welsh and Norman armies were likely to join battle today, somewhere near Cardigan.
The weather had turned chill, and Amelina ordered the servants to stoke up the fire in the hall. I sat near the hearth, hoping this game of tables could distract me from my anxiety. I moved my skirts aside for the servants to carry the logs in and place them close to the fire. Amelina sighed, sat down beside me, and took my hand. She knew what I suffered with this waiting. She had been there at the births of all my sons who were now, almost all, in mortal danger. Henry, William, and Maurice had all gone to join the Norman forces preparing to defend Cardigan and FitzStephen was in the castle too, though I hoped too young for fighting. Ranged against my sons were my brother and their older cousins, Anarawd and Cadell. I would surely lose someone this day and perhaps all.
‘Stop thinking about it,’ Amelina said.
‘How can I stop?’
She bent to the small table beside her and poured one of her medicines into a beaker of wine. ‘Drink this.’
‘No!’ I pushed the beaker away. ‘I want none of your tinctures. If I am to lose a son, a brother, a nephew this day, I want to feel it.’ It was my lot to wait at home in anguish while my kin fought each other in bitter and bloody battles. I had already lost Gwenllian, Morgan and Maelgwyn. ‘Must I look on the young faces of my sons and nephews, pushing a shroud from their foreheads to give them my last kiss?’ I sobbed.
‘Stop it, Nest. You’re frightening Maredudd and Rhys,’ Amelina hissed in my ear.
She was right, and I tried to get a grip on myself. ‘I cannot bear the waiting,’ I said in a low voice, fighting for calm after my outburst.
My steward pushed the doors open a sliver, ducked his head in briefly to call to me: ‘Norman warriors in the bailey, my lady.’ My heart plummeted. ‘Keep Maredudd and Rhys out of sight in my chamber. Quickly!’ I hissed to Amelina, bundling Rhys into her arms. She moved swiftly toward the stairs, with Maredudd trotting at her heels. I wiped my cheeks with the sleeve of my gown. My thoughts flashed to another troop of Norman warriors here. A troop who had burned Llansteffan to the ground and beheaded my teenage brother Goronwy on the beach, maimed my brother Hywel soon after he was born. I rose and walked to the door where I recognised Alice of Chester, the widow of Richard de Clare, dismounting. She was surrounded by the big destriers of her escort. They must have come from Cardigan Castle.
‘Oh Nest!’ She flew to embrace me. ‘Will you give us shelter to rest our horses for a short while?’ Her distressed face was streaked with soot. Her usually immaculate dress was hastily thrown on and wrongly laced. She had no maid or female companion with her.
‘Of course. What has happened, sir?’ I asked a tall, broad man who shouldered his way through the others to head the group.
‘This is Miles of Gloucester. Nest ferch Rhys, wife of de Marais,’ Alice said with an emphatically meaningful tone aimed at him.
‘Ah, yes, I recall you, sir,’ I said. ‘We were married alongside each other in Cardigan many years ago, were we not?’
He nodded. ‘Indeed we were. My lady,’ he gave me a bow.
‘Please come and take refreshment.’ I gestured to my steward, who busied himself with giving orders to look to the needs of my guests and their mounts. The horses’ sides and mouths frothed with the sweat of extreme exertion.
‘We have suffered a defeat, Nest!’ Alice exclaimed before we had got far past the threshold.
I suppressed my urge to scream questions concerning my kin at them and, instead, led them to the trestle on the dais where my servants provided fresh water and towels to wash their hands, a beaker of strong wine and a hunk of new baked bread. ‘I would know what has happened to all my kin,’ I said to Miles in as sedate a voice as I could find.
‘Your brother, my lady, has driven a Norman army from the battlefield at Crug Mawr.’
I tried to keep the joy from my face at his words, yet my joy also did war with my anxiety. ‘This news had not yet reached us here,’ I said slowly, as if my own slow speech might fend off hearing who had died.
‘Ceredigeon was invaded by the princes of Gwynedd – Owain and Cadwaladr – and by your brother Gruffudd ap Rhys,’ Gloucester reported. ‘They took five castles, including Aberystwyth, and attacked Cardigan Castle, where I rescued this lady.’
‘The Welsh warriors yell, “vengeance for Gwenllian!” as they run at the walls,’ Alice told me, her eyes wide. ‘Oh, it was so terrible, Nest! The town has been burnt to cinders. We had to wade the river because the bridge collapsed with the weight of so many fleeing. The bodies of horses and men clogged the Teifi that ran red with gore. I saw skulls cleft with battle axes. Heads kicked and thrown, as if in a game of Shrovetide ball!’ She turned white with nausea at her own description.
‘Please, sir,’ I begged, despairing that I would get much sense from Alice, ‘I have many loved ones on either side of this conflict. Will you tell me what you know and quickly?’
He nodded. ‘I understand. I am very sorry to tell you your husband, Stephen de Marais, died in the conflict. He fought most bravely.’
‘And my son Robert FitzStephen, who was with my husband?’
‘He’s fine,’ Alice burst out. ‘The boy is safe inside the castle. Your husband would not allow him to go outside the walls. Don’t worry. I saw him quite safe, Nest.’
But left him there, I thought. I tightly smiled my thanks to her. ‘Can you tell me more, of the others?’ I tried to keep my voice level as I addressed Miles of Gloucester.
‘The Norman forces were led by Baldwin de Clare and Robert FitzHarold of Ewas. I arrived too late for the battle but rescued Lady de Clare instead and will take her to safety in England.’
‘My sons?’ I whispered.
‘They were all there, Nest! You would have been proud to see them sallying against those Welsh savages.’
Gloucester was eyeing Alice, astonished that she showed no awareness that I was myself a Welsh savage. ‘They all live,’ he told me quickly. ‘Henry de Normandy, William and Maurice FitzGerald? These are your sons, I believe?’
‘Yes.’
‘They fought bravely at the battle and have retired to Carew. I believe William took a small wound on his arm, but it did not look serious.’
I swallowed. I could hardly believe it. ‘Thank you. I am grateful for your information. And my brother and nephews?’
‘This Gruffudd, the leader of the attackers, is her brother, you know,’ Alice inserted, giving Gloucester needless information. ‘We can hardly be expected to give you news of the enemy, Nest! You are not safe here. You must flee with us.’
I looked at her with exasperation. I needed to have speech with Gloucester alone. ‘Countess, you look in need of the attentions of a maid. Might I arrange that for you?’
She looked down at her dress and reddened. ‘I had to get up in the middle of the night, in the dark. My maid was nowhere to be found.’
‘Was she Welsh?’ I asked quietly, and I noticed Gloucester smirk on the side of his face that was not visible to her.
‘Yes, she was,’ Alice said, knitting her brow.
I gestured to one of my maids and whispered in her ear in Welsh. ‘Take Lady Alice to the back chamber,’ I said with emphasis, not wanting my visitors anywhere near Maredudd and Rhys. She nodded her understanding to me. ‘Susanna will assist you, Alice.’ Susanna dipped a curtesy and led Alice from the hall. We watched them go, and Gloucester turned back to me. I had deduced he was a man of intelligence who had the measure of the situation and realised, therefore, that I could not be entirely trusted.
‘Your brother and his two sons were not injured in the battle or the assault on Cardigan Castle. To my knowledge, they are well.’
I breathed a deep sigh of relief and made no attempt to conceal it from Gloucester. ‘I thank you for this information.’
‘You have a hard job of it, my lady, with warriors ranged on either side. I cannot envy you that.’
I nodded my agreement with his words. ‘Has the castle fallen?’ I felt anxiety again for FitzStephen.
‘No, my lady. Robert FitzMartin defended the castle, and it has held against the … against the Welsh army.’
‘Will you and Lady Alice stay overnight and rest before you journey on?
‘You are kind and I thank you, but no. I will get the lady to safety and have no way of knowing what is upon my heels. Do you wish to accompany us?’
‘No.’ I did not bother to elaborate on or soften my refusal, and he accepted it in the same vein.
‘This castle is Norman garrisoned I believe.’
‘Yes. My son, Maurice, commands here.’
‘He will, no doubt, return soon.’
I nodded my agreement. ‘I have one more question I would ask you, sir.’
He raised his eyebrows.
‘The sheriff of Pembroke is a good friend of mine, Haith de Bruges. Do you know if he fought? How he fares?’
‘There were no forces from Pembroke in the fighting. The sheriff is still safely inside Pembroke, to my knowledge. Won’t you come with us, Lady Nest? There is likely to be more fighting in this vicinity.’
I shook my head. ‘This is my land and my place.’
37
The Princes of Deheubarth
Haith’s hands were freezing, despite his gloves. His toes too. His hair was stiffened with ice. It was a freezing winter, and he had been in the saddle for six hours on the journey from Pembroke. It was a long ride for a man in his sixties, but he had not wanted to stop anywhere on the way and explain his excursion to a curious host. His old battle wounds ached with the cold, especially his shoulder where he had taken an arrow on the road from Cardiff, close to the Tywi. Nest had saved his life that day. Snow lay heavy on the trees and fields and dripped cold onto his shoulders whenever it got the chance. Snow in sunshine could be a fine sight, but it was a darkening, grey day and Haith felt oppressed by the weather and by the uncertainty of what he was riding toward.
Dinefwr was visible now. The rough wooden ring-fenced compound stood high on the ridge above the expanses of the Towy valley floodplains that he rode through. Three smoke trails rose from hearths inside the compound. Gruffudd ap Rhys and his family had taken up residence here, but it looked, as yet, to be a hasty, ephemeral structure. Haith’s horse laboured up the steep incline toward the gates and, as he neared, he could see the place was heavily guarded. Nest had written to invite him to spend Christmas here with her, and with his sister and son. It was an olive branch from her and one he was not going to spurn. But, as a Norman sheriff, Haith had good cause to feel anxious anticipation at passing under the lintel of this Welsh enclave.
He had a gift of a fine knife in his saddlebag for the boy, for his son. There were small, jewelled and filigreed brooches for Amelina and Ida, and a shimmering girdle decorated with gold and gems for Nest. He had more small gifts for the family of his host and Lady Isabel had gifted him four bottles of good wine that were also filling out his saddlebags.
‘This should earn you some kind of welcome, Haith,’ she smiled. ‘I’m sorry you won’t be with us for the Christmas feast at Pembroke.’ She had frowned at him, perplexed at his journey.
It had been difficult to explain the invitation since he could name neither Ida nor his son as reason. He was forced to lie and give an unlikely excuse about previously unheard-of Flemish relatives and the king’s orders, when everyone knew King Stephen’s writ was running rather thin in Wales. Isabel looked at him askance but asked no further questions. Her husband was away attending on the king, but she would be safe enough in Haith’s absence behind the impregnable walls of Pembroke Castle. Few Welsh tenants had paid their taxes on the last collection day, and they were very likely paying tribute instead to Nest’s brother. The returns Haith could send on to King Stephen’s coffers had been thin pickings. Haith continued to undertake his duties as sheriff as best he could, but the machinery of Henry’s administration was grinding to a halt. That part of Haith’s life would soon be done with, buried with Henry, and he did not know what came next.
Once past the guards at the gateway who had been surly but expected him, he found the courtyard deserted. The inclement weather must be keeping everyone inside. Haith grimaced again at his aches and pains as he dismounted and limped his way toward the stables, leading his exhausted horse. Here, at last, he found signs of life. There was a boy seated on a haystack and Haith commanded him to see to the horse. The boy told him in Welsh that he was a fewterer, not a groom, and Haith would have to shrift for the horse himself. Haith resisted the urge to clout the boy. It would not do to raise any hackles here. So he shrifted, finding a hay-net and water and relieving his stallion of his heavy accoutrements. He rubbed him down, checked his hooves, unrolled a blanket, and slung it over the horse’s back. ‘Where is everyone?’ he asked the boy in his poor Welsh and had to repeat the question three times before the boy decided to understand him and give him an answer.
‘In front of the fire.’
‘And you?’ Haith asked. ‘Why aren’t you there?’
The boy indicated a box at his feet, and Haith peered inside at a litter of six mastiff puppies. ‘Looking after these,’ the boy stated, shivering.
‘Ah, I see.’ Haith took the thick bearskin cloak from his shoulders and held it out to the boy, who widened his eyes in disbelief and did not take it at first. ‘Take it,’ Haith shook it toward the boy, ‘but I want it back, mind, for my return journey.’
The boy, grateful at last, pointed out the door to the hall – one of the least ramshackle wooden buildings in the compound. ‘In there, Master. Those big doors.’
Haith pushed at one side of the door with his shoulder. It opened complaining on unoiled hinges and just enough to allow him to squeeze in. To Haith’s surprise, the hall was full. He shouldered the door closed again behind him. Ten trestles ran the length of the space, all fully occupied with men, women, and children squeezed close together. At the far end, on the raised dais, Nest raised a hand to him. With his loaded saddlebags in hand, he started down the hall, but an enormous Welshman stepped in front of him, speaking angrily in Welsh and pointing at Haith’s sword. Haith gestured apologetically and transferred both saddlebags to one hand, to slowly draw his sword from its scabbard and lay it to one side of the door. All eyes were fixed upon him as he did so. He noticed there were no other weapons set at the threshold and other men seated at the trestles were wearing their armoury at their hips.
Nest’s brother, Gruffudd ap Rhys, rose to greet him, and Nest smiled warmly in welcome. ‘I’m so glad you decided to come, Haith,’ she said. ‘Be welcome.’ Haith exchanged a kiss on both cheeks with Ida. Gruffudd introduced him to his sons, naming them proudly as ‘the princes of Deheubarth’. Anarawd and Cadell, the two eldest sons, were young men in their mid-twenties, one with the fair colouring of their Cambro-Danish mother; and then, there were Gwenllian’s surviving sons, Maredudd and Rhys. Rhys was four and had his mother’s red hair, while Anarawd and Maredudd had their father’s (and Nest’s) black hair and blue eyes. When the greetings were over and Haith was seated, he took the opportunity to look around the hall and find his own son, Robert, at one of the lower trestles, sitting next to Amelina’s husband, Dyfnwal. Haith felt a pang that Robert had no knowledge that he was his father. Dynfnwal threw Haith a friendly glance. The lad was seventeen and filling out. He had the look of Haith, with thick, yellow hair, broad shoulders, and long arms. Haith wondered if anyone else would remark the similarity between them.
Nest was seated on the other side of her brother and asked, ‘So, Henry has an heir, Haith, after all? His grandson, Empress Maud and Count Geoffrey’s son. I hear he is known as Henry FitzEmpress?’
‘Yes, he is a healthy child, three years old. He has a shock of red hair and is full of energy. The empress has two more sons now, Geoffrey and William. That would have pleased King Henry: a whole clutch of grandsons, but they are all still babies, though.’
‘I thought the empress was separated from her husband,’ Gruffudd remarked in perfect Norman French.
‘That was so for a while, sire,’ Haith responded, careful to give Gruffudd his honours as king, ‘but she did, eventually, return to her husband despite their differences. Empress Maud was very ill after the births of her second and third son and there were fears she would die, but she has made a slow recovery.’
‘If Empress Maud dies,’ Nest speculated, ‘Henry FitzEmpress will be a three-year-old contender for the crown of England and the duchy of Normandy, with the count of Anjou as regent?’
Haith noticed Gruffudd was listening intently to this conversation, but everything they spoke of was common knowledge in England. It just took a while to travel this distance. ‘The empress has regained her strength. She will take on the role of regent for her son herself.’
