Lady of Hay: An enduring classic – gripping, atmospheric and utterly compelling. Barbara Erskine

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 forward and shyly went down on one knee, set the wine and cakes on one of the chests beside the bed, then turned and fled back to the hall.

      Matilda gazed after him for a moment, perplexed, and then, throwing back her hair, she sat down on the bed and began to eat. She was ravenously hungry and she had to think.

      She sat for a long time over her cup of wine, as the rush burned lower. Then in the last flickering light she stood up and began to take off her clothes.

      The sound of talk and laughter had begun to lessen in the hall below and now an occasional snore was beginning to echo up the stairs. To her relief there was no sign of William.

      She slipped naked under the heavy bed coverings and, her plans quite made up for the morning, was soon asleep.

       7

      On the sofa Jo stirred uneasily. Beneath her lids her eyes moved rapidly from side to side and her breathing quickened.

      ‘I was tired after the days of endless riding,’ she said slowly. ‘And I slept heavily. It is first light now. The room is grey and shadowy and the fire has sunk to a heap of white ash. I am sleepy … trying to remember where I am …’ There was a long pause. ‘I am not alone any more … There is someone here with me in the room …’

      ‘So you are awake at last!’ William leaned over the bed and dragged the covers down to her waist. His breath stank of stale wine. ‘My beautiful wife, so eager for her husband’s company. I’m flattered, my dear, that you should have missed me so much.’ He laughed and Matilda felt herself shudder. She lay still for a moment, afraid to move, as his calloused hands gripped her breasts, then she reached down desperately for the bedcovers, trying to drag them over her once more, remembering the charm she had recited to herself in the dark; the charm which would protect her from him for months to come.

      She forced herself to lie still and looked up at him, her clear eyes steady on his. He immediately looked away, as always uncomfortable beneath her gaze.

      ‘You must not touch me, my lord.’

      His mouth widened into a sneer. ‘Oh no? And why not, pray?’ He grabbed her wrist, twisting it painfully until she wanted to scream, but she managed to keep her voice calm as she spoke. ‘Because I am with child. And my nurse Jeanne says if you lie with me again whilst he is in my belly he will be stillborn.’

      She held her breath, watching his face. Cruelty turned to anger, then disbelief, then to superstitious fear. Abruptly he released her and he crossed himself as he straightened, moving away from the bed.

      ‘That witch! If she has put the evil eye on my child …’

      ‘She casts no evil eye, my lord.’ Matilda sat up, drawing the fur bedcover over her breasts and clutching it tightly. ‘She wants to protect him. That is why she sent me to you, whilst I was still able to travel. Your son must be born in Wales, in your lands in the Border