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

mead, and then was led to sleep on a pile of sheepskins in the women's quarters. Only when she was well enough to rejoin the men by the blazing fire in the main room of the building did she discover that they were not prisoners at all but the honored guests of one of the mountain chieftains in his tribal hall. And with him they remained for all the long weeks of one of the worst winters the Welsh hills had ever known.

Snow drifted deep across the cwms and broad valleys; fast-flowing rivers froze from bank to bank and the mountains slept beneath an icy pall. Slowly, cared for by their Welsh hosts, the invalids grew stronger. Reassured that their pursuers could not reach them through the frozen hills, they regained something of their optimism, and with it made a new plan. As soon as the thaw came they would make their way west to the coast and from there they would cross to Ireland, where they could go to Margaret and Walter, and where they had many relatives and friends in a position to help them.

Matilda never asked their host why he had given them shelter; it seemed an abuse of his hospitality to query it. She supposed it was enough that they had been truly wanderers in the storm, thrown upon a sacred trust, or perhaps it was their common enmity with King John that had made them one at last with their Welsh neighbors.

As the thaw freed the high moorland trackways and the valleys of snow and ice, William and Matilda and their sons, accompanied by two Welsh guides, set off again into the teeth of the wind on their journey to the sea. They rode fast, muffled in sheepskins, nervous, in spite of the kindness and hospitality they had received, of penetrating so deep into the land of the Welsh, so often their enemies. But the journey, though bitter cold and wearisome, was without incident. They arrived at last at the broad Dovey estuary that separated north from south Wales, opposite the castle that guarded the river mouth, and looked down from the hillside onto the two ships tied up at the low wooden quay at the marsh edge. Will glanced at his mother and smiled. "Nearly there now. By tomorrow, God willing, we'll be safe. "

She stared gravely at the ships. "I wonder how long it will be before John knows where we've gone. He could follow us to Ireland. " She shivered, pulling the fur closer around her throat.

"He won't, Mother. " Reginald took her hand. "The Irish lords are too powerful. He'd never challenge them. And between us, we're married into most of their families. " He nudged his brother and chuckled.

The horses picked their way down into the village and their guide negotiated a passage for them with the dark, burly master of one of the vessels before carefully stowing their baggage in his ship. A strong onshore wind was crashing waves against the wooden quay and clouds of icy spray splattered onto the marshy track that led to the few fishermen's houses on the beach. They would not sail today.

Sadly Matilda bade farewell to her white mare. Their horses had been promised to their host as payment. Bowing, the guides made their formal farewell and then left, leading the string of animals behind them at an easy canter back up the track.

It was four days before the wind veered and dropped enough for the captain to risk putting his small vessel to sea. Matilda watched the hills behind them constantly during the short hours of daylight, expecting at any moment to see a line of horses and light-catching helms and lances that would show that the king had achieved the impossible and caught up with them. But they never came.

At last the boat nosed her way out into the bay. A brisk, cold wind sent her plunging sharply to her small sails. Matilda stood on deck gazing back at the receding land, half hidden under a pall of black cloud. Her hair was torn from the hood of her cloak and whipped mercilessly around her face and across her eyes but she ignored it. It was as though she still expected, even now, to see John galloping down onto the shore of the estuary and boarding the other vessel that remained tied to the quay. She shivered and Will put his arms around her. "The crossing doesn't take long, Mother. Do you feel sick?"

She glanced up and saw his grin, his eyes teasing. "You know I don't, you silly boy. I knew I would like the sea. I only wish we were crossing under happier circumstances. " She sighed.

"Well, John can whistle for us now, so enjoy yourself. " Will laughed. "You and I have the sea legs of the family, that's plain to see. " He nodded over his shoulder. His father and Reginald had retired to a sheltered corner of the deck where they were seated on some stoutly roped barrels. Both looked very uneasy, and shortly first William and then his son slipped aft into the fetid deck cabin, where, wrapped in their cloaks, they lay down.

Before long the wind started to blow up again. It veered around to the east, whistling in the rigging, and the broad-beamed boat began to bucket up and down the troughs and waves with alarming violence.

Will's eyes were shining. "Be pleased the wind's getting up, Mother. We'll be there the sooner. " Matilda laughed at his exhilaration.

Night fell early and with it the storm worsened. The passengers were sent into the stuffy cabin, where they lay awake, hurled from one side to the other amid a debris of falling cargo and luggage. The air stank of fish and vomit and outside the wind screamed in the rigging, until, with a rending crack, the tightly reefed mainsail ripped across the middle. Matilda, trying to brace herself, sitting with her back to the forward