Barbara Erskine 3-Book Collection: Lady of Hay, Time’s Legacy, Sands of Time. Barbara Erskine

of the great hall. He was a short man of stocky build with a ruddy complexion set off by his tawny mantle, his dark gold hair and beard catching fiery lights from the torches in the wall sconces behind him. He watched the men and horses milling round for a moment then he slowly descended the steps and approached his wife, his hand outstretched to help her dismount. His face was thunderous.

      Swinging off his own horse Richard saw with a quick glance that for the first time Matilda looked afraid.

      ‘In the name of Christ and all His saints what are you doing here?’ William roared. He reached up and pulled her violently from the saddle. When standing she was several inches taller than he, a fact of which he was obviously painfully conscious. ‘I couldn’t believe it when my scouts said that you were coming through the forest. I thought I forbade you to leave Bramber till the spring.’

      ‘You did, my husband.’ Matilda tried to sound contrite as she pulled the furs more closely round her in the chill wind. ‘But the weather seemed so good this winter and the roads were passable, so I thought there wouldn’t be any danger. I hoped you’d be glad to see me …’ Her voice tailed away to silence and she could feel her heart beginning to thump uncomfortably beneath her ribs. How could she have forgotten what he was like? The hostility with which he always treated her, the cruelty in which he took such pleasure, the rank smell of debauchery which hung over him? In spite of herself she shrank from him and abruptly he released her arm. He swung round on the circle of men which had formed around them, listening with open interest to the exchange. His face flushed a degree deeper in colour. ‘What are you staring at?’ he bellowed. ‘See to your horses and get out of my sight!’

      Matilda turned, blindly searching for Richard amongst the men. He was standing immediately behind her. Gently he took her arm. ‘Let me help you in, Lady Matilda,’ he said quietly. ‘You must be tired.’

      William swung round, his head thrust forward, his fists clenched. ‘Leave her, Lord Clare,’ he shouted. ‘My God, you’d better have a good reason for bringing my wife here.’ He swung on his heel and strode towards the flight of steps which led up to the main door of the keep, his spurs clanking on the hollow wood. Halfway up he stopped and turned, looking down on them. ‘You are not welcome here, either of you.’ His face was puce in the flickering torchlight. ‘Why did you come?’

      Matilda followed him, her cloak flying open in the wind to reveal her slim tall figure in a deep-blue surcoat.

      ‘I came because I wanted to be with my husband,’ she said, her voice clear above the hissing of the torch beside her. ‘My Lord de Clare was only going as far as Gloucester, but he insisted that it was his duty not to let me travel on my own. We owe him much thanks, my lord.’

      Her husband snorted. He turned back up the steps, walking into the great hall of the keep and throwing his cloak down on the rushes where a page ran to pick it up.

      ‘His duty was it?’ He stared at Richard as he followed him in, his eyes stony with suspicion. ‘Then you will perform the double duty of escorting her back to Gloucester at first light.’

      Matilda gasped. ‘You’re not going to let me stay?’

      ‘Indeed I am not, madam.’

      ‘But … why? May we not at least stay for the feast tomorrow?’ She had followed him towards the central hearth in the crowded hall. ‘Why shouldn’t we attend? It is not my right as your wife to be there?’

      ‘No, it is not your right,’ he roared. ‘And how in the name of Christ’s bones did you learn of it anyway?’ He turned on her and, catching her arms, gripped her with a sudden ferocity. ‘Who told you about it?’

      ‘Walter Bloet at Raglan. Stop it, my lord, you’re hurting me!’ She struggled to free herself from his hold. ‘We stopped there to rest the horses and they told us all about it. He was very angry that you had not invited him.’

      She glanced round, suddenly conscious of the busy figures all around them. Only those close to their lord and his lady seemed to realise that there was something amiss between them and had paused to eavesdrop with unashamed curiosity. The rest were too absorbed in their tasks. Smoke from the fire filtered upwards to the blackened shadows of the high vaulted ceiling.

      ‘Damn him for an interfering fool! If you had waited only another two days, all might have been well.’ He stood for a moment gazing at her. Then he smacked his fist into the palm of his hand. ‘Go on up.’ He turned away. ‘Go to my bedchamber and rest. You are leaving tomorrow at dawn. That is my last word on the subject.’

      Matilda looked around desperately. The evening meal was obviously not long over and the servants had only just started clearing away the trestles to make room for the sleepers around the fire. Two clerks had come forward, hovering with a roll of parchment, trying to catch William’s eye, and the shoemaker, a pair of soft leather boots in his hand, was trying to attract his lord’s attention behind them. Her husband’s knights, men-at-arms, guests, servants crowded round them. On the dais at the end of the hall a boy sprawled, his back against a pillar, softly playing on a viol.

      Richard touched her softly on the arm. ‘Go up, my lady. You need to rest.’

      She nodded, sadly. ‘What about you? Your welcome is as cold as mine.’

      ‘No matter.’ He smiled at her. ‘I’ll take you back to Gloucester as he commands, first thing tomorrow. It is for the best.’

      He escorted her towards the flight of steps at the end of the hall which William had indicated, cut into the angle of the new stone wall, and at the bottom of the stair he kissed her hand.

      A single rush taper burned weakly in the vaulted chamber above. A tapestry hung on one side of the shadowy room, and a fireplace was opposite. Matilda was trying to hold back her tears. ‘Go and find the women’s quarters, Nell,’ she said sharply as the girl dragged in after her, still sniffing. ‘I suppose I’ll …’ She hesitated for only a second. ‘I’ll be sleeping with Sir William in here tonight. I won’t need you.’ She shivered suddenly and bit her lip. ‘I misjudged our welcome it seems. I’m sorry.’

      She watched as Nell disappeared up the stair which led to the upper storeys of the tower, then with a sigh she turned to the fire. She stood for a long time before the glowing embers, warming her hands. All round her her husband’s clothes spilled from the coffers against the walls and on a perch set in the stonework a sleepy falcon, hooded against the dim light, shifted its weight from one foot to the other and cocked its head enquiringly in her direction as it heard the sound of her step. Wearily she began to unfasten her mantle.

      In the hall below a Welsh boy slipped unnoticed to the kitchens and collected a cup of red Bordeaux wine from one of the casks which were mounted there. Onto a pewter platter he piled some of the pasties and cakes which were being prepared for the next day’s feasting and, dark as a shadow, he slipped up the stairs to his lord’s chamber. He was sorry for the beautiful girl in the blue dress. He too had been sworn at by de Braose and he too did not like it.

      She was standing by the fire, the glowing embers reflecting the red glint in her massed dark hair. Her veil lay discarded on the bed with her wet mantle, and she was fingering an ivory comb.

      The boy watched breathlessly from the shadows for a moment, but he must have moved, for she turned and saw him. He was surprised to see that there were no tears in her eyes. He had thought to find her crying.

      ‘What is it, boy?’ Her voice was very tired.

      He stood still, abashed suddenly at what he had dared to do, forgetting the cup and plate in his hands.

      ‘Have you brought me some food?’ She smiled at him kindly.

      Still he did not move and, seeing his ragged clothes and dark face, she wondered suddenly if he had yet learned the tongue of his Norman masters.

      ‘Beth yw eich enw?’ she asked carefully, groping for the words Meredith the steward at Raglan had taught her, laughing at her quick interest. It meant, what is your name?

      The boy came