Lady of Hay by Barbara Erskine (reading an ebook TXT) 📕

of their money and jewels in a deserted mountaintop shrine where the old gods, if they still dwelt there, would guard the hoard. Even William was not told of the location.

Once they were safely back at Hay Matilda took Stephen's hand. "You must stay here when we go, " she said sadly. "Our quarrel is not yours, dear Stephen. Think of us and pray for us. You must hand over Hay Castle to the king and give him your unreserved homage. "

"What will you do?" Stephen looked at her sadly.

She shrugged. "Try to get to my son Giles in France perhaps. " She looked around miserably. "We can't stay here. Thank you, Stephen, for all you've done. Thanks to you the gold at least is safe, and if we ever return it will be there. "

"You will return, my lady. " He raised her hand gently to his lips. "You will return. "

William and Matilda rode out of Hay Castle at dawn the following day, their only companions Will and Reginald.

It was the beginning of a nightmare. King John's pursuit of them was relentless. His troops harried them unmercifully, always close behind. Several times they tried to leave the border, heading south, but each time they were forced to retreat into the icy woods, where, after weeks of rain, the last leaves were beginning to fall, leaving the tracks exposed and dangerous. Reginald was the only one who remained healthy and tried to humor the party. William had developed a pain in his side that worsened daily. Will, try as he might to hide it, was once more succumbing to his sore throat, and Matilda, though she fought it with all the willpower she possessed, could feel her tall, slim body beginning to stoop and thicken at the joints with the hateful, inflaming rheumatism brought on by the cold weather. Riding was painful for them all, and despair very close.

Here and there they found a few days' respite, lodged secretly by monks or relatives who still had sympathy for the homeless family, but always fear of discovery moved them on.

As Christmas approached they were once more on the border only a few miles north of Hay, almost back where they started. They had been galloping hard for two days, trying to avoid soldiers, who had come nearer to them than on any previous occasion. "It was treachery, " Matilda could not help repeating over and over to herself as she bent low over her horse's mane, following close behind Will. Her fingers were swollen and reddened until she could no longer hold the reins. Will, not saying anything but noticing, had knotted them for her so that she could slip them over her wrist, but there was no need. The mare automatically followed the others now. "We have been betrayed, " she repeated again, "by somebody we thought was our friend. They could not have found us otherwise. " Only the strange hotness on her cheeks told her that she was crying. Then the wind and rain on her face froze the misery and her thoughts became numb again.

They followed the valley roads through the woods, trying to avoid the hills, where there was no shelter. She didn't know if Reginald knew where he was leading them anymore, and she no longer cared very much. All she wanted was to lie down somewhere and go to sleep and never wake again. Never to mount her horse and force her aching limbs to ride another mile. Never to feel another blast of wind.

The day was so stormy it was hard to tell if it was high noon or dusk, and when the armed figures stepped out on the waterlogged track in front of them, catching at Reginald's bridle and dragging his horse to a standstill, she felt only disbelief, thinking them part of the murk. Then at last, when she realized that they were real, all she felt was dull relief that at last the chase was over.

The wind whipped their words away before she could hear what the men said to Reginald and Will, who, coughing pitifully, had ridden up beside his brother. She only saw that her sons held their hands away from their swords in surrender and looked at one another apprehensively.

Their captors ignored William, armed though he was, and he sat unmoving as his horse stopped of its own accord, his head sunk between his shoulders, one hand still pressed to his side.

Then the trek began again, but walking this time, with a man at her horse's head. They were prisoners. She dropped the pretense of holding the reins and tried to warm her poor swollen hands by breathing on them and tucking them under her mantle.

After what seemed an eternity of frozen tracks they reached a clearing in a valley wood with, at its center, a long, low wooden building thatched with reeds. She felt herself helped somehow from the saddle and two men half carried, half dragged her toward a doorway. It was the last thing she knew.

The door latch rattled and Ann looked up. Her attention had been so completely on the bowl of shadowy reflections before her that she had forgotten the others. Ben walked slowly into the kitchen. Behind him came Nick, his face ashen. She saw at once that he was himself again. She held her finger to her lips and silently the two men sat down at the table. Both were staring at the bowl of water as Jo, unaware of their return, went on speaking slowly.

It took a long time for her to recover her senses before the fire. She was conscious of gentle hands removing her clothes, even her shift; of soft linen towels rubbing her icy skin and then of a long warm robe fastened at the waist by a girdle of spun flax. She was given flummery, a hot, spicy oatmeal gruel, from the cauldron on the fire, and meat from the spit, and