Daughter of the Last King, page 31
part #1 of Conquest I Series
‘I wish I could just slip next door, into my old chamber, and carry on as before.’
‘Nothing is as before,’ Sybil said bluntly.
‘How is Lord FitzHamon?’ I knew Sybil’s husband had been carried to Tewkesbury Abbey and was being cared for there.
‘He will die soon,’ Sybil said, and her daughters studied the quilt glum-faced. ‘Can you speak to the king for us?’ Sybil’s dear face wore an expression of unusual and extreme anxiety.
‘I … I fear I don’t have any sway with Henry anymore.’
Sybil shocked me by bursting into wholly uncharacteristic tears. ‘You were our last hope!’ she sobbed. The girls began to weep, alarmed by their mother’s emotion. Amelina hugged Hawise and Cecile to her sides, and I took Mabel’s and Amice’s hands in mine.
‘But Sybil! Last hope for what?’
‘When my husband dies, Henry will dispose of us all. We’re all worthless to him, tainted Montgomerys.’
‘No, don’t imagine that! I’m sure Henry can’t think of any of you as worthless. He will feel he owes it to FitzHamon to take care of his daughters.’
‘You really think so, Nest?’ Mabel asked.
I nodded enthusiastically. The girls ranged in age now from Mabel’s thirteen to Amice’s nine. Henry would seek out good marriages for them, surely.
‘And you think Henry will feel he owes anything to me, to Sybil de Montgomery?’
I looked helplessly at Amelina and made no reply.
* * *
The following day, we continued our journey toward my lands by boat, sailing past Swansea and the cows grazing on the salt marshes of the Gower Peninsula. Our vessel was a knarr with a square sail. I thrilled at the sight of the longed for high, wide skies, the scudding white clouds and the sandy coastline of home. Gerald frequently took little Henry from my arms or Amelina’s and walked around the boat, talking to him, showing him what the sailors were doing, or pointing at a pod of dolphins leaping in the water beside our vessel. At first I was wary, but soon realised Gerald would do him no harm and that he was growing genuinely fond of my boy.
The final part of our voyage took us across Carmarthen Bay toward the harbour at Saundersfoot. Because of the treacherous waters and sandbanks of the triple river estuary, we could not go too close to where Llansteffan Fort stood on the headland, but I saw it from a distance. It stood in ruins still, its timbers blackened and fallen after Arnulf’s raid long ago. I looked across to the headland I knew so well: the beach, the mouths of the three rivers – Gwendraeth, Tywi, Taf. It was like looking down a well for I was looking down time, down the fourteen years since Gerald had taken me from here trussed in a cart, ripped from my family. Gerald saw me looking, my eyes shaded against the sun, and came and stood beside me. ‘Llansteffan is yours now,’ he said unnecessarily. After a while he realised I did not intend to reply. ‘I can order its restoration?’
I turned now to look at him. ‘Leave it as it is.’ I walked away and stood alone again, further up the boat, looking at the beach where I had lost myself. The Claw. Perhaps I would find myself again now that I was returned to my own land.
When we approached the harbour at Saundersfoot, the tide was far out and we had to weigh anchor at some distance to wait for its return to carry us in safely. The great sandy bay stretched for miles. ‘Why don’t we take a small boat and row to the beach?’ Gerald asked me. ‘The boy would like to wriggle his toes in the sand after being cooped up on the boat for so long.’ I looked with longing at the beach myself and nodded my assent. The small row-boat was lowered into the water and Gerald got in first. Henry was carefully strapped and lowered down on ropes into Gerald’s arms, which he thought was a grand adventure, worthy of his best chuckles. I hitched my long skirts into my belt at the sides, kicked off my shoes and gingerly felt with my bare feet, one step at a time, down the knotted rope ladder to the boat.
Gerald soon rowed the short distance and jumped into the shallow water to lug the boat to the sand, while Henry wriggled forcefully in my restraining arms, excited by the pattern of light on the water. I waved at Amelina watching anxiously from the ship. Gerald pulled the boat aground. ‘You hold the boy,’ he told me, and then took me by surprise, as he swept me up in his arms and waded to the damp sand with us, depositing us there. I blushed and smiled at my feet, straightening my skirts, my hem already plastered with damp sand patches that scratched against my ankles.
Henry struggled in my arms, and I set him down. He had recently learnt to crawl and could make surprising speed at it. He knelt on the damp sand, lifting a handful to his mouth. Gerald rushed to him and stood him upright, gently brushing the sand from his face and laughing. ‘That doesn’t taste good!’ He held Henry by the hands, his arms raised up, and walked him along the beach between his knees with Henry giggling, pointing that he wanted to head to the edge of the water where little waves trilled toward him. After a while, Gerald corralled him away from the water, carrying him to a rock pool to show him a crab. I looked at my son and my husband. I looked at the blue of the sky and the sea and the great sweep of yellow beach. I lifted my skirts above my bare toes and ankles and walked slowly toward them. Henry was crying out for a crab that Gerald had pulled from the pool with his gauntleted hand and Gerald was shaking his head. ‘No, no. It will pinch you hard. You can’t touch it!’ We laughed together, but I turned away swiftly. Tears pricked at my eyes, which might have been from the whip of the wind, but I knew they were rather from the whip of regret.
A few hours later, Amelina changed me and Henry out of our damp, sandy clothes in an inn. Outside again, I handed Henry to her in a covered cart, and mounted my horse. We took the road toward Carew, which was also my land. Gerald rode up alongside me. ‘Nest, can you forgive me for what happened?’ he asked in a low voice.
‘There is nothing to forgive. You followed your orders as you always do, and I have been happy in the time since I last saw you.’
He received this doubtless unsatisfactory reply in silence. I was determined not to play along with this sham marriage. I knew now not to expect anything more from the king. I was discarded. He had moved on to some other love. I was distraught that he had not even sent me a letter of farewell, but I would not voice my distress to anyone, not even to Amelina. My pride was hurt, but I told myself I had known this would happen all along.
Somewhere in Henry, there was a stone-cold strategist who used his lovers and his children as pawns. Making me his mistress and marrying me to a minor Norman, he had deliberately disempowered me, disassembled any symbolic force I might have held for the Welsh or offered to any husband, either Welsh or Norman. He was disingenuous when he told me he had married me to Gerald to safeguard my reputation. I was rather more politically significant than Ansfride, Sybil Corbet or Edith, and he was more motivated by the need for a cover against the ire of his allies in Wales.
Gerald interrupted my thoughts: ‘The people in Deheubarth will be overjoyed to see you return.’
‘It has been fourteen years. They will have forgotten me,’ I said sullenly.
‘Oh no!’ he said. ‘You will see.’
As we came into Carew, news of my coming had gone before us. The people came out, lining the road, calling my name, ‘Lady Nest! Lady Nest!’ They threw flowers and shouted for my blessing. I was astonished and then overwhelmed with emotion at their affection and to be addressed in Welsh after all this time. I looked with a full heart at the familiar scene – the low walls of lime-washed cob, the narrow shuttered windows and the thick frowns of thatch on the village houses. The thatch was loaded here and there with moss and lichen. Smoke belched from triangular openings. Piles of firewood and water butts stood close to the houses. The smell of beer issued from the village brew house, the smell of bread from the bakehouse and the cacophony of fowl came from the goose and hen houses.
Gerald smiled at me. ‘See, they remember you alright!’ I did not return his smile, but saved my own smiles for the cheering crowds of villagers. Many of the women held handkerchiefs to the corners of their brimming eyes. I decided to dismount.
‘Is that wise?’ Gerald asked.
I ignored him and took the hand of a villager standing to help me climb from my horse. ‘You honour us, lady!’
‘Thank you all for your kind greetings to welcome me home,’ I called out. ‘How do my father’s people fare?’ I asked the man who had handed me down from the horse.
‘We are your people now, lady, and right overjoyed we are to see you here among us. We’re faring well enough. A good harvest this year. Life goes on despite these Normans in the llys where your good father ruled. Is your brother coming, lady?’
‘I know nothing of my brother,’ I said, lowering my voice, anxious Gerald would overhear and understand. ‘Speak softly of him. Many Normans understand some Welsh now. He will come one day.’
Gerald leapt from his horse and held his hands with the fingers laced together for me to step up and remount. I gripped the pommel with one hand and steadied myself on Gerald’s shoulder with the other, avoiding his eyes. I turned in the saddle to watch the Carew villagers waving until we rounded the bend and were out of sight.
‘I’ve started designing a new residence for you at Carew,’ Gerald said, ‘if it pleases you? Pembroke is a garrison, full of soldiers and few comforts. I thought you might like something more … courtly.’ He coloured.
‘Thank you,’ I said softly. ‘That is kind.’ We were like strangers, with Henry leering smugly between us at every word and every turn.
As we neared Pembroke, its timber-walled hulk loomed above us, fitting the headland as a perfect triangle. Gerald turned to me with a grin. ‘Shall we take a boat to the Wogan?’
I meant to show him perpetual disfavour, but I could not resist the suggestion. ‘Oh yes!’ I tried to hide my glee, but it was insistent. Underneath the great castle was an enormous cave letting out directly onto the river that was called the Wogan Watergate. It had been lived in by primitive men and women thousands of years ago. Their bones, stone tools and rudimentary drawings on the cave walls were there still. As a child, I was always pestering my father to enter that way instead of taking the ordinary road to the main castle gatehouse. Gerald, pleased to see me at last taking an interest and volunteering to do something in his company, was quick to organise the small boat for us. Amelina continued on the road with little Henry and the rest of the entourage, while Gerald and I stepped into the boat.
The tide was flowing out and the Pembroke river was rushing to the sea. ‘Do you know how to gain the entrance?’ I asked him anxiously. Entering through the cave entrance when the river was turbulent could be a risky procedure.
‘Don’t worry,’ he said. ‘I know it and I know this castle at least as well as you do.’
He steered our little craft skilfully, vigorously, across the current and pulled us to the bank at the mouth of the cave. Engrossed in his task, he had to forget for a while the tensions between us and I was able to watch him without his notice. How dashing he was, how handsome, this treacherous husband of mine. I enjoyed watching the muscles of his arms and legs battling the water, and then looked at him from the swaying boat as he leapt out, hauling it aground. He grinned at me, exhilarated at his success, offering me his hand. I took it and stepped from the boat, surprising him by retaining his hand when he started to pull it away. We walked toward the yawning cave entrance. Inside it was chill, dank and green with patches of damp moss and streaks of red in the rock, just as I had remembered it. Without a lantern and coming from the brightness of the day, we could not see into its darkest reaches. I stumbled on the uneven ground and Gerald steadied me. He moved to lead me to the stone steps that led up to the castle, but I stayed him. ‘Gerald.’
‘My lady?’ He faced me in the gloom, still holding my hand.
‘We must try to be man and wife, I suppose.’
He was silent, but stepped closer to me. When I did not step away from him, he put one hand on my waist and the other on my cheek. ‘I have always only thought of you as my wife, Nest.’
We stood in this awkward embrace for a few moments, looking at each other. ‘Let’s go in and greet your household.’ Gerald led me to the steps that wound up to open out blindingly into the light of the vast bailey at the heart of the castle.
The castle was very much changed since my father’s time. The timber buildings of the compound were all restored and newly thatched, and some had been enlarged, including the hall, the stables and the chapel. The high wooden palisade that ran all around the triangle of the headland and then across the front of the castle was recently built and had a wooden walkway for the garrison guards. A two-storey gatehouse guarded the entrance to the bailey and the exit across a drawbridge. The gates were open, and I saw that a deep ditch had been dug across the front of the castle, so the only means of access was across the drawbridge – or through the Wogan. Pembroke Castle looked ‘ship-shape’, like an embodiment of Gerald himself, whereas before, I admitted to myself, it had been a little ramshackle.
The Pembroke household were out in full to greet us, and their reception was ecstatic. Norman and Flemish soldiers, Welsh cooks and kitchen boys alike, stood bobbing gaily and calling out welcomes in their diverse languages. A small girl was gently propelled forward toward me from the protection of her crouching father’s embrace and held out a bouquet of wood anemones and bluebells to me. ‘Thank you, sweetie,’ I said quietly, bending to her. Her dimples mirrored my own. Suddenly she realised she was the centre of attention and fled back distraught, colliding with the safety of her father’s knees, and Gerald and I exchanged smiles.
25
Rebuilding
Our first meal in Pembroke was drawing to an end. ‘I’ve arranged a chamber for you, Nest. I hope it will be to your liking. If there is anything you need, I hope you will tell me.’
‘Thank you.’ I gave him no invitation to visit me there this evening. I was tired and although I had already determined that I would attempt to take Gerald back into my heart, I needed more energy and perhaps I needed more time to achieve it.
In the morning, I stood on the west wall close to the chapel looking across the river to Monkton, the Benedictine Priory that Arnulf had established in memory of his brother, Hugh. Arnulf was ousted, and I was home, but who was I now? Was I Norman or Welsh? Was I the wife of Gerald or still the lover of Henry? I had been so immersed in my relationship with Henry and had had no warning that it might end abruptly as it did, that it was hard to shift the flow of my affections, but Gerald was my husband in the eyes of God. I determined not to hang waiting helplessly on Henry but to make the best of the situation now that I had recovered from my initial disbelief at being so easily discarded.
Weeks passed, and my relationship with Gerald thawed little by little. He was loving to my son, who was too small to ever know Gerald as other than his own father. Amelina liked him and dropped hints every day that I might be kinder to him. I could not deny that he was a capable castellan and conducted his duties with panache, fairness and humour. I started to find myself laughing at his conversation. Our discussions at dinner became more animated. He was a good-looking man, and it was evident that he burnt with desire for me, but he waited patiently for a sign that I could accept him as a lover.
One night I made a snap decision. It was time I put vain hopes of Henry behind me. He had sent no word and had forgotten my existence and that of his son. It was Henry who deserved the full brunt of my resentment, and not Gerald. I needed to resume my life, not waste it pierced over and over with stupid hope for a man who did not deserve my loyalty, when a man who was at least caring was sitting before me. ‘Will you join me in my chamber?’ I said, turning my eyes on him. I did not smile, but I sought for a connection with him.
He held my gaze. ‘Can you ever feel for me as you once did? In the first days of our betrothal, the first hours of our marriage?’ he asked.
‘Yes,’ I lied. ‘I can. I do.’
‘You … do you really wish it?’
‘Yes,’ I said, putting my hand on his, searching in myself for how I had felt about him when we were first married, in the short hours before I knew about Henry’s ruse, before I knew Henry.
‘I could leave you be, Nest … if you need more time.’
‘I need you. I wish to … be your wife, in truth, in …’ I could not find the right words.
‘I understand.’
We rose together, and I scraped my chair clumsily, noisily. He took my hand and led me to the stairs up to my chamber. My heart beat and I felt trepidation at the act I was about to engage in, as if I were a maiden.
We stood by the bed. After looking in my face to ensure I was truly willing, Gerald slowly unlaced my gown. He kissed me and stroked a warm hand inside my bodice, cupping my breast and breathing hard. I reached to the lacings of his tunic. He was a passionate, enraptured lover, and I could not doubt the sincerity of his love for me. I liked him, and yet, although I feigned love, I could find nothing more than liking for him. Not love. Thank God, not that. I would never again allow that in to hurt me.
If it had not been for Henry’s manipulations of us both, I could have loved Gerald. If it had not been for my passion for Henry, I might have given that passion to Gerald. Since I was a girl stolen from my home, I regarded Gerald as my one kind, true friend but when he married me in my May flowers crown, when he swung me around telling me he loved me, knowing all the time of his bargain with the king, then I had seen a mask slip from his face. His fair hair and his smiling blue eyes were suddenly transformed to a pretty surface I no longer believed in. I saw him as a wolf in sheep’s clothing, no better than the rest. I could never regain how I had felt before. The best I could do was like him. I would never trust him.
I felt pleasure at Gerald’s caresses and at the lithe, muscled beauty of his body, so unlike Henry’s bear-like stockiness. It would have been different if Gerald had not married me knowing he would give me to the king, but that fact was always there between us even as Gerald’s olive skin slid against mine, as his flesh entered mine.
‘Nothing is as before,’ Sybil said bluntly.
‘How is Lord FitzHamon?’ I knew Sybil’s husband had been carried to Tewkesbury Abbey and was being cared for there.
‘He will die soon,’ Sybil said, and her daughters studied the quilt glum-faced. ‘Can you speak to the king for us?’ Sybil’s dear face wore an expression of unusual and extreme anxiety.
‘I … I fear I don’t have any sway with Henry anymore.’
Sybil shocked me by bursting into wholly uncharacteristic tears. ‘You were our last hope!’ she sobbed. The girls began to weep, alarmed by their mother’s emotion. Amelina hugged Hawise and Cecile to her sides, and I took Mabel’s and Amice’s hands in mine.
‘But Sybil! Last hope for what?’
‘When my husband dies, Henry will dispose of us all. We’re all worthless to him, tainted Montgomerys.’
‘No, don’t imagine that! I’m sure Henry can’t think of any of you as worthless. He will feel he owes it to FitzHamon to take care of his daughters.’
‘You really think so, Nest?’ Mabel asked.
I nodded enthusiastically. The girls ranged in age now from Mabel’s thirteen to Amice’s nine. Henry would seek out good marriages for them, surely.
‘And you think Henry will feel he owes anything to me, to Sybil de Montgomery?’
I looked helplessly at Amelina and made no reply.
* * *
The following day, we continued our journey toward my lands by boat, sailing past Swansea and the cows grazing on the salt marshes of the Gower Peninsula. Our vessel was a knarr with a square sail. I thrilled at the sight of the longed for high, wide skies, the scudding white clouds and the sandy coastline of home. Gerald frequently took little Henry from my arms or Amelina’s and walked around the boat, talking to him, showing him what the sailors were doing, or pointing at a pod of dolphins leaping in the water beside our vessel. At first I was wary, but soon realised Gerald would do him no harm and that he was growing genuinely fond of my boy.
The final part of our voyage took us across Carmarthen Bay toward the harbour at Saundersfoot. Because of the treacherous waters and sandbanks of the triple river estuary, we could not go too close to where Llansteffan Fort stood on the headland, but I saw it from a distance. It stood in ruins still, its timbers blackened and fallen after Arnulf’s raid long ago. I looked across to the headland I knew so well: the beach, the mouths of the three rivers – Gwendraeth, Tywi, Taf. It was like looking down a well for I was looking down time, down the fourteen years since Gerald had taken me from here trussed in a cart, ripped from my family. Gerald saw me looking, my eyes shaded against the sun, and came and stood beside me. ‘Llansteffan is yours now,’ he said unnecessarily. After a while he realised I did not intend to reply. ‘I can order its restoration?’
I turned now to look at him. ‘Leave it as it is.’ I walked away and stood alone again, further up the boat, looking at the beach where I had lost myself. The Claw. Perhaps I would find myself again now that I was returned to my own land.
When we approached the harbour at Saundersfoot, the tide was far out and we had to weigh anchor at some distance to wait for its return to carry us in safely. The great sandy bay stretched for miles. ‘Why don’t we take a small boat and row to the beach?’ Gerald asked me. ‘The boy would like to wriggle his toes in the sand after being cooped up on the boat for so long.’ I looked with longing at the beach myself and nodded my assent. The small row-boat was lowered into the water and Gerald got in first. Henry was carefully strapped and lowered down on ropes into Gerald’s arms, which he thought was a grand adventure, worthy of his best chuckles. I hitched my long skirts into my belt at the sides, kicked off my shoes and gingerly felt with my bare feet, one step at a time, down the knotted rope ladder to the boat.
Gerald soon rowed the short distance and jumped into the shallow water to lug the boat to the sand, while Henry wriggled forcefully in my restraining arms, excited by the pattern of light on the water. I waved at Amelina watching anxiously from the ship. Gerald pulled the boat aground. ‘You hold the boy,’ he told me, and then took me by surprise, as he swept me up in his arms and waded to the damp sand with us, depositing us there. I blushed and smiled at my feet, straightening my skirts, my hem already plastered with damp sand patches that scratched against my ankles.
Henry struggled in my arms, and I set him down. He had recently learnt to crawl and could make surprising speed at it. He knelt on the damp sand, lifting a handful to his mouth. Gerald rushed to him and stood him upright, gently brushing the sand from his face and laughing. ‘That doesn’t taste good!’ He held Henry by the hands, his arms raised up, and walked him along the beach between his knees with Henry giggling, pointing that he wanted to head to the edge of the water where little waves trilled toward him. After a while, Gerald corralled him away from the water, carrying him to a rock pool to show him a crab. I looked at my son and my husband. I looked at the blue of the sky and the sea and the great sweep of yellow beach. I lifted my skirts above my bare toes and ankles and walked slowly toward them. Henry was crying out for a crab that Gerald had pulled from the pool with his gauntleted hand and Gerald was shaking his head. ‘No, no. It will pinch you hard. You can’t touch it!’ We laughed together, but I turned away swiftly. Tears pricked at my eyes, which might have been from the whip of the wind, but I knew they were rather from the whip of regret.
A few hours later, Amelina changed me and Henry out of our damp, sandy clothes in an inn. Outside again, I handed Henry to her in a covered cart, and mounted my horse. We took the road toward Carew, which was also my land. Gerald rode up alongside me. ‘Nest, can you forgive me for what happened?’ he asked in a low voice.
‘There is nothing to forgive. You followed your orders as you always do, and I have been happy in the time since I last saw you.’
He received this doubtless unsatisfactory reply in silence. I was determined not to play along with this sham marriage. I knew now not to expect anything more from the king. I was discarded. He had moved on to some other love. I was distraught that he had not even sent me a letter of farewell, but I would not voice my distress to anyone, not even to Amelina. My pride was hurt, but I told myself I had known this would happen all along.
Somewhere in Henry, there was a stone-cold strategist who used his lovers and his children as pawns. Making me his mistress and marrying me to a minor Norman, he had deliberately disempowered me, disassembled any symbolic force I might have held for the Welsh or offered to any husband, either Welsh or Norman. He was disingenuous when he told me he had married me to Gerald to safeguard my reputation. I was rather more politically significant than Ansfride, Sybil Corbet or Edith, and he was more motivated by the need for a cover against the ire of his allies in Wales.
Gerald interrupted my thoughts: ‘The people in Deheubarth will be overjoyed to see you return.’
‘It has been fourteen years. They will have forgotten me,’ I said sullenly.
‘Oh no!’ he said. ‘You will see.’
As we came into Carew, news of my coming had gone before us. The people came out, lining the road, calling my name, ‘Lady Nest! Lady Nest!’ They threw flowers and shouted for my blessing. I was astonished and then overwhelmed with emotion at their affection and to be addressed in Welsh after all this time. I looked with a full heart at the familiar scene – the low walls of lime-washed cob, the narrow shuttered windows and the thick frowns of thatch on the village houses. The thatch was loaded here and there with moss and lichen. Smoke belched from triangular openings. Piles of firewood and water butts stood close to the houses. The smell of beer issued from the village brew house, the smell of bread from the bakehouse and the cacophony of fowl came from the goose and hen houses.
Gerald smiled at me. ‘See, they remember you alright!’ I did not return his smile, but saved my own smiles for the cheering crowds of villagers. Many of the women held handkerchiefs to the corners of their brimming eyes. I decided to dismount.
‘Is that wise?’ Gerald asked.
I ignored him and took the hand of a villager standing to help me climb from my horse. ‘You honour us, lady!’
‘Thank you all for your kind greetings to welcome me home,’ I called out. ‘How do my father’s people fare?’ I asked the man who had handed me down from the horse.
‘We are your people now, lady, and right overjoyed we are to see you here among us. We’re faring well enough. A good harvest this year. Life goes on despite these Normans in the llys where your good father ruled. Is your brother coming, lady?’
‘I know nothing of my brother,’ I said, lowering my voice, anxious Gerald would overhear and understand. ‘Speak softly of him. Many Normans understand some Welsh now. He will come one day.’
Gerald leapt from his horse and held his hands with the fingers laced together for me to step up and remount. I gripped the pommel with one hand and steadied myself on Gerald’s shoulder with the other, avoiding his eyes. I turned in the saddle to watch the Carew villagers waving until we rounded the bend and were out of sight.
‘I’ve started designing a new residence for you at Carew,’ Gerald said, ‘if it pleases you? Pembroke is a garrison, full of soldiers and few comforts. I thought you might like something more … courtly.’ He coloured.
‘Thank you,’ I said softly. ‘That is kind.’ We were like strangers, with Henry leering smugly between us at every word and every turn.
As we neared Pembroke, its timber-walled hulk loomed above us, fitting the headland as a perfect triangle. Gerald turned to me with a grin. ‘Shall we take a boat to the Wogan?’
I meant to show him perpetual disfavour, but I could not resist the suggestion. ‘Oh yes!’ I tried to hide my glee, but it was insistent. Underneath the great castle was an enormous cave letting out directly onto the river that was called the Wogan Watergate. It had been lived in by primitive men and women thousands of years ago. Their bones, stone tools and rudimentary drawings on the cave walls were there still. As a child, I was always pestering my father to enter that way instead of taking the ordinary road to the main castle gatehouse. Gerald, pleased to see me at last taking an interest and volunteering to do something in his company, was quick to organise the small boat for us. Amelina continued on the road with little Henry and the rest of the entourage, while Gerald and I stepped into the boat.
The tide was flowing out and the Pembroke river was rushing to the sea. ‘Do you know how to gain the entrance?’ I asked him anxiously. Entering through the cave entrance when the river was turbulent could be a risky procedure.
‘Don’t worry,’ he said. ‘I know it and I know this castle at least as well as you do.’
He steered our little craft skilfully, vigorously, across the current and pulled us to the bank at the mouth of the cave. Engrossed in his task, he had to forget for a while the tensions between us and I was able to watch him without his notice. How dashing he was, how handsome, this treacherous husband of mine. I enjoyed watching the muscles of his arms and legs battling the water, and then looked at him from the swaying boat as he leapt out, hauling it aground. He grinned at me, exhilarated at his success, offering me his hand. I took it and stepped from the boat, surprising him by retaining his hand when he started to pull it away. We walked toward the yawning cave entrance. Inside it was chill, dank and green with patches of damp moss and streaks of red in the rock, just as I had remembered it. Without a lantern and coming from the brightness of the day, we could not see into its darkest reaches. I stumbled on the uneven ground and Gerald steadied me. He moved to lead me to the stone steps that led up to the castle, but I stayed him. ‘Gerald.’
‘My lady?’ He faced me in the gloom, still holding my hand.
‘We must try to be man and wife, I suppose.’
He was silent, but stepped closer to me. When I did not step away from him, he put one hand on my waist and the other on my cheek. ‘I have always only thought of you as my wife, Nest.’
We stood in this awkward embrace for a few moments, looking at each other. ‘Let’s go in and greet your household.’ Gerald led me to the steps that wound up to open out blindingly into the light of the vast bailey at the heart of the castle.
The castle was very much changed since my father’s time. The timber buildings of the compound were all restored and newly thatched, and some had been enlarged, including the hall, the stables and the chapel. The high wooden palisade that ran all around the triangle of the headland and then across the front of the castle was recently built and had a wooden walkway for the garrison guards. A two-storey gatehouse guarded the entrance to the bailey and the exit across a drawbridge. The gates were open, and I saw that a deep ditch had been dug across the front of the castle, so the only means of access was across the drawbridge – or through the Wogan. Pembroke Castle looked ‘ship-shape’, like an embodiment of Gerald himself, whereas before, I admitted to myself, it had been a little ramshackle.
The Pembroke household were out in full to greet us, and their reception was ecstatic. Norman and Flemish soldiers, Welsh cooks and kitchen boys alike, stood bobbing gaily and calling out welcomes in their diverse languages. A small girl was gently propelled forward toward me from the protection of her crouching father’s embrace and held out a bouquet of wood anemones and bluebells to me. ‘Thank you, sweetie,’ I said quietly, bending to her. Her dimples mirrored my own. Suddenly she realised she was the centre of attention and fled back distraught, colliding with the safety of her father’s knees, and Gerald and I exchanged smiles.
25
Rebuilding
Our first meal in Pembroke was drawing to an end. ‘I’ve arranged a chamber for you, Nest. I hope it will be to your liking. If there is anything you need, I hope you will tell me.’
‘Thank you.’ I gave him no invitation to visit me there this evening. I was tired and although I had already determined that I would attempt to take Gerald back into my heart, I needed more energy and perhaps I needed more time to achieve it.
In the morning, I stood on the west wall close to the chapel looking across the river to Monkton, the Benedictine Priory that Arnulf had established in memory of his brother, Hugh. Arnulf was ousted, and I was home, but who was I now? Was I Norman or Welsh? Was I the wife of Gerald or still the lover of Henry? I had been so immersed in my relationship with Henry and had had no warning that it might end abruptly as it did, that it was hard to shift the flow of my affections, but Gerald was my husband in the eyes of God. I determined not to hang waiting helplessly on Henry but to make the best of the situation now that I had recovered from my initial disbelief at being so easily discarded.
Weeks passed, and my relationship with Gerald thawed little by little. He was loving to my son, who was too small to ever know Gerald as other than his own father. Amelina liked him and dropped hints every day that I might be kinder to him. I could not deny that he was a capable castellan and conducted his duties with panache, fairness and humour. I started to find myself laughing at his conversation. Our discussions at dinner became more animated. He was a good-looking man, and it was evident that he burnt with desire for me, but he waited patiently for a sign that I could accept him as a lover.
One night I made a snap decision. It was time I put vain hopes of Henry behind me. He had sent no word and had forgotten my existence and that of his son. It was Henry who deserved the full brunt of my resentment, and not Gerald. I needed to resume my life, not waste it pierced over and over with stupid hope for a man who did not deserve my loyalty, when a man who was at least caring was sitting before me. ‘Will you join me in my chamber?’ I said, turning my eyes on him. I did not smile, but I sought for a connection with him.
He held my gaze. ‘Can you ever feel for me as you once did? In the first days of our betrothal, the first hours of our marriage?’ he asked.
‘Yes,’ I lied. ‘I can. I do.’
‘You … do you really wish it?’
‘Yes,’ I said, putting my hand on his, searching in myself for how I had felt about him when we were first married, in the short hours before I knew about Henry’s ruse, before I knew Henry.
‘I could leave you be, Nest … if you need more time.’
‘I need you. I wish to … be your wife, in truth, in …’ I could not find the right words.
‘I understand.’
We rose together, and I scraped my chair clumsily, noisily. He took my hand and led me to the stairs up to my chamber. My heart beat and I felt trepidation at the act I was about to engage in, as if I were a maiden.
We stood by the bed. After looking in my face to ensure I was truly willing, Gerald slowly unlaced my gown. He kissed me and stroked a warm hand inside my bodice, cupping my breast and breathing hard. I reached to the lacings of his tunic. He was a passionate, enraptured lover, and I could not doubt the sincerity of his love for me. I liked him, and yet, although I feigned love, I could find nothing more than liking for him. Not love. Thank God, not that. I would never again allow that in to hurt me.
If it had not been for Henry’s manipulations of us both, I could have loved Gerald. If it had not been for my passion for Henry, I might have given that passion to Gerald. Since I was a girl stolen from my home, I regarded Gerald as my one kind, true friend but when he married me in my May flowers crown, when he swung me around telling me he loved me, knowing all the time of his bargain with the king, then I had seen a mask slip from his face. His fair hair and his smiling blue eyes were suddenly transformed to a pretty surface I no longer believed in. I saw him as a wolf in sheep’s clothing, no better than the rest. I could never regain how I had felt before. The best I could do was like him. I would never trust him.
I felt pleasure at Gerald’s caresses and at the lithe, muscled beauty of his body, so unlike Henry’s bear-like stockiness. It would have been different if Gerald had not married me knowing he would give me to the king, but that fact was always there between us even as Gerald’s olive skin slid against mine, as his flesh entered mine.
