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

in her sleep, still hugging the pillow to her face. She half awakened and lay still, listening. A voice was calling her name in the distance, trying to rouse her and bring her back, calling a name again and again. She listened, half roused. But she resisted. She did not want to wake. She could not face the terror that consciousness would bring.

"Let her sleep. She will wake by herself in the end!"

The words echoed in her head for a moment, so clear they must have been spoken from beside the bed; then, as she turned her face away, they receded once more and she fell back into the dark.

When she next woke the room was absolutely silent. There were no voices, no sounds from below in the great hall. She lay for a while, her face still buried in the fur of the bedcover, too stiff and dazed to move, feeling its rancid hair scratchy against her mouth and nose, then at last she managed to raise herself a little and try to turn over. At once her head began to spin and she was overwhelmed with nausea. With a sob she fell back onto the bed.

A hand touched her shoulder and something cool and damp and comforting was pressed gently to the back of her neck.

"I'll help you, my lady, shall I?" Megan's voice was little more than a whisper.

At the sound of it Matilda forced herself to lift her head. Then reluctantly she pulled herself up onto one elbow and looked around.

"Megan? Megan, is it you? Tell me it's not true. It's not. It's not... " Her voice broke. "It must not be true. "

The room was dark as she groped for the woman's hands and held them fast. Slowly as her sight adjusted to the gloom she could just see Megan's face in the dying glow of the fire.

Her eyes were shut and tears streaked her cheeks as, wordlessly, Megan shook her head.

They remained unmoving for a long time, huddled together on the bed, their hands tightly clasped as they listened to the logs shifting on the hearth. Then at last Matilda pulled herself up against the pillows.

"How long have I been asleep?" she said. Her voice sounded strange and high to her ears. "Where is my... where is William?" She could not bring herself to call him her husband.

Megan opened her eyes wearily and sat motionless for a moment, staring in front of her. Then she shook her head, unable to speak.

"Is he still here, in the castle?"

"Duw, I don't know, " Megan answered finally, her voice lifeless. "They took out the dead and cleaned the blood away. Then Lord de Braose sent a detachment of his men after the people who stayed behind at Castle Arnold. Prince Seisyll's wife, his babies... " She began to cry openly.

"His babies?" Matilda whispered. "William has ordered the death of Seisyll's babies?" She stared at Megan in disbelief. "But surely there are guards, there will be men there to protect them?"

"How? When all the prince's men came with him, thinking there is peace between King Henry and the men of Gwent, trusting the King of England's honor!" The gentle face had twisted with hatred.

"I must stop them. " After pushing the covers aside, Matilda climbed shakily from the bed. Her feet were bare but she did not notice. Megan did not move as she made her way to the top of the stairs and listened for a moment to the silence that was broken only by the howl of the wind outside the walls. Steeling herself, Matilda began to tiptoe down, her feet aching from the cold stone.

The great hall was empty. The rushes on the floor had been swept away, leaving the flagstones glistening with water. The tables had been stacked and the chairs and benches removed. It was absolutely empty. Moving silently on her bare feet, Matilda crossed to the center of the floor and looked around. The echoing vault of the roof was quiet now and the fire had died. Two or three torches still burned low in their sconces, but there was no one to tend them and they flared and smoked by turns in the draft. The only smell that remained was the slight aroma of roasting beef.

"Sweet Jesus, " she breathed. She crossed herself fearfully as her eyes searched the empty shadowy corners, but nothing stirred. There were no ghosts yet of the dead.

Forcing herself to move, she left the hall and went in search of her husband. The solar, the guardroom, the kitchens, and the stores were all empty. And the chapel, where the wax candles had burned almost to the stub. The whole keep was deserted. Reluctantly she turned at last to the entrance and, walking out, stood looking down into the dark bailey courtyard below.

It was full of silent people. Every man, woman, and child from the castle and the township appeared to be there, standing around the huge pile of dead. Behind them some of William's guards stood muttering quietly, looking uneasily around them into the shadows or toward the lowered drawbridge. They all appeared to be waiting for something—or someone. Nowhere was there a sign of the dark twisted face that belonged to her husband.

Matilda stepped out over the threshold and walked slowly down the flight of wooden steps. She was half-conscious of the inquiring faces turned toward her on every side, but her eyes were fixed on the bodies of the dead. The Welsh moved aside to let her pass and watched as she walked, head and shoulders taller than most of them, a stately slim figure in her gold and scarlet gown, to stand before her husband's victims. An icy wind had arisen. It whipped at her long hair, tearing it out of the loose braids that held it. Megan must have removed her headdress while she lay insensible and she had not noticed.

She stood there a long time, head bowed, her eyes fixed on