A Gift of Sanctuary (33 page)
Read A Gift of Sanctuary Online
Authors: Candace Robb
Tags: #Fiction, #Historical, #Mystery & Detective, #General, #Crime
How tragic she looked, and how lovely. A mother’s grief for her lost child was becoming to a woman. ‘If God took him from you, there is nothing to be done but take joy in those yet to come. But does your husband not grieve with you?’
Tangwystl took a deep, shuddering breath. ‘It is because of John Lascelles that my son is lost to me.’ She shook her head, as if trying to rid herself of the thought. ‘Such a tale is not for you, good Sir Robert. I do not come here to burden your heart with my sorrow.’
‘I would be honoured to be so burdened, my lady.’
‘It is not good for your humours.’
‘According to the worthy physician, there is little can be done for my humours. In faith, it does me good to hear your story. It is a debt paid, mayhap. Once I caused great unhappiness by being blind to a woman’s sorrow – my wife’s. I was a fool. I might have found joy with her, and she with me, if when I saw her tears I had asked for what she wept. Instead I called her ungrateful and left her alone in a strange place that I had given her no reason to love while I went back to soldiering. Please, gentle lady, speak to me of your sorrow. Amélie will smile on me if I listen.’
Tangwystl had lifted her face to Sir Robert, and though her eyes still shone with tears, a smile trembled on her lips. ‘I shall gladly help you with that.’
‘Come now. Tell me your tale.’
She nodded, but was silent a while, her eyes on the fire. When at last she began, her voice was stronger. ‘A long while ago it seems, though it is not more than four winters past, I met a man who looked to me to be the best of all that is mankind. He was sharp of wit, honey tongued, and skilled in anything to which he turned his hands, whether it be casting nets in the sea or ploughing the land, carpentry or smithying. And withal he was blessed with a countenance that made a maiden blush to look on him. He favoured me with his attentions. I gave him my heart. But my father, having no son and therefore knowing his land would go to my uncles and their sons, wished to marry me to someone with sufficient wealth that if my sister did not wed she would yet have a comfortable life in my household.
‘But I would have Rhys. Rhys ap Llywelyn was his name.
Is
his name, God grant that he yet lives. I knew that my father would not wish to risk the anger of a well-born husband if I were no longer a virgin, and so I lay with Rhys. And we conceived a child. Hedyn, my son. When I told my father of my joy, he cursed Rhys and banished me from his house. Rhys and I did not care – we lived happily as husband and wife in the cottage of a cousin who took pity on us. But when our son was born, my father repented his anger and prepared for our wedding. And then the Lord of Pembroke accused my father of treason. To be sure, you must have knowledge of that.’
Is
his name, God grant that he yet lives. I knew that my father would not wish to risk the anger of a well-born husband if I were no longer a virgin, and so I lay with Rhys. And we conceived a child. Hedyn, my son. When I told my father of my joy, he cursed Rhys and banished me from his house. Rhys and I did not care – we lived happily as husband and wife in the cottage of a cousin who took pity on us. But when our son was born, my father repented his anger and prepared for our wedding. And then the Lord of Pembroke accused my father of treason. To be sure, you must have knowledge of that.’
‘There was no wedding then?’
Tangwystl bowed her head. ‘No. Though we claimed sanctuary in St Mary’s Church and lived there a long while, our vows were never sanctified by a priest, nor did my father acknowledge our marriage in the law. But I had no time to think on my troubles. I had to look to my mother, who seemed to wither in spirit with each day. Hedyn was the only joy she knew.
‘And then my father, who had escaped to seek help, returned in the company of John Lascelles. He was not yet steward of Lancaster’s Marcher lordships. It was not the first time he had come to us. He had been our guest once a few years earlier when my father had arranged a ship for him, and when it foundered, my father saved his life. Sir John offered us sanctuary in the March of Cydweli and even a farm he had it in his grace to dispose of. All he asked in return was my hand in marriage.
‘I took Hedyn and went in search of Rhys, who also sought help for us, but he was not at the cottage. His cousin knew not where he had gone. Our thirty days of sanctuary had run out and my Lord of Pembroke’s men were coming for father. We could not stay while I searched for Rhys. And everyone said that without land, without a name, how was my father to see us wed?
‘Still I waited. My parents were two days gone when the earl’s men came. When I fled to Rhys’s cousin’s house he shunned me, fearful lest Pembroke should call him traitor also. Weak and frightened for my son – he was but an infant – I followed after my parents. I did not go far before I met Sir John on the road, hastening back to save me. In my despair he comforted me.
‘But never did I think that for my comfort and that of my family I must hear my son Hedyn branded a bastard. Father had told me that Sir John knew of the baby and welcomed it. I did not know English ways. I did not know how you chastise the child for the parents’ sin, which was not even sin among my people. Rhys and I loved, we lived together as man and wife, and had my father not met misfortune we would have been wed.
‘Where am I to find the strength to tell my son he is a bastard? That when Sir John returns to England I must accompany him, but Hedyn will stay in Cydweli? My son weeps when I leave him now, but how long will he remember me?’
‘Sweet lady.’
‘So you see, I am alone in my sorrow, as was Rhiannon, and punished for what I did not do.’
Sir Robert wished to agree with her, but she had lain with a man against her father’s wishes, and without the blessing of the Church. An extreme punishment, but not an unusual one. ‘What of Rhys? What happened to him?’
‘He had gone looking for work. He knew nothing of what had happened until I was gone. His brother tells me he suffered much, and that at last he had come to St David’s to ask the bishop to intervene, to declare my marriage to Sir John invalid.’
‘Is that what you want?’
‘That is why I am here.’
‘And Rhys?’
‘I do not know. He left here without a word to anyone.’
But Sir Robert thought he saw something in her eyes that belied her denial.
Twenty-two
A QUESTION OF TRUST
A
t Newgale, where the road dipped to the ocean, a brisk wind cheered Owen’s company, cooling them after their long, hot ride. It promised a chilly night, and though the men thought it would be spent in comfort at the bishop’s palace, Owen knew that might not be true.
t Newgale, where the road dipped to the ocean, a brisk wind cheered Owen’s company, cooling them after their long, hot ride. It promised a chilly night, and though the men thought it would be spent in comfort at the bishop’s palace, Owen knew that might not be true.
The closer they drew to St David’s, the slower their pace, for there were many pilgrims on the road, and all on foot. At last by Nine Wells they dismounted and walked their horses. It was late afternoon, but Owen was confident they would reach St David’s before sunset. Still, time was against them. In a few days the bishop would return to the city for Passiontide, and all must put aside their worldly pursuits for Holy Week. Who might slip through Owen’s fingers while he knelt in the cathedral?
A pointless worry. He would do all he could, then use the time to pray God saw fit to show him how he must continue.
Sir Robert’s breathing quieted and slowed.
‘He sleeps,’ Brother Michaelo whispered.
‘Would you like to walk out in the courtyard with me?’ Tangwystl asked. ‘Sir Robert is right. You are very pale. And you have more vigils ahead of you.’
‘I should watch with him.’
‘Watch him sleep? The servant will come for us if there is need.’
Michaelo leaned close to Sir Robert, listened to his chest. There was a damp, insidious rumbling now. He made the sign of the cross over Sir Robert.
‘What is it?’ Tangwystl asked.
‘I am not certain, but I do not like the sound. It is as if his lungs have turned to liquid.’
Tangwystl put her head to Sir Robert’s chest. It seemed to Michaelo a long time she stayed there, and when she raised her head, she did not meet his eyes, but sat silently with head down for a moment. Then she rose, told the servant to make sure to keep Sir Robert’s head propped up on the pillows, that he must not be permitted to lie flat.
‘It is the end?’ Michaelo asked.
‘My little brother lived for some time after his chest made such a sound,’ Tangwystl said. ‘But my mother knew when she heard it that he would not recover. Come. Let us walk a while.’
The light from the high windows and the bustle of the pilgrims stunned Brother Michaelo when he stepped from the corridor into the great hall, so long had he been in the dark, quiet sickroom. He had forgotten it was yet day. Mistress Tangwystl gasped beside him. She, too, must find the change a shock.
‘My lady, what a pleasure to find you here.’ A tall man in travel garb bowed to Michaelo’s companion. He was dusty and stank of horses, but his clothing was fine.
‘My lord,’ Tangwystl said softly, her eyes on the man’s muddy boots as she curtseyed.
‘And now yet another churchman escorts you. Are you a friend of Father Edern?’ the man asked with a sneer.
Brother Michaelo liked neither the man’s tone nor his expression. ‘I am Brother Michaelo, secretary to the Archbishop of York, and not acquainted with the priest you named. Mistress Tangwystl has assisted me in the sickroom of a friend all the day. And you, sir, if you deserve to be so called, speak your name.’
‘John Lascelles.’
Dear God in Heaven.
‘I see my name is familiar to you. And has your lovely companion told you that she is my wife?’
As they approached Bonning’s Gate to the north of the city, Owen dismounted and called to Duncan and Geoffrey to step aside.
To Duncan he gave the orders to take all the horses save Owen’s and Iolo’s to the palace stables. The two were off to meet someone who might help them.
‘Why Iolo?’ Duncan asked.
‘He was born in Porth Clais. I need him as a guide. Go, Duncan. Rest. We might ride out again soon, so take rest when you can.’
Tight jawed, Duncan took the rein of Geoffrey’s mount in hand with his own and joined the others, gave them the orders. Iolo moved aside with his mount, giving the two men privacy.
Geoffrey had occupied himself smoothing out his clothing and beating off some of the dust while Owen gave Duncan his orders. Now he faced Owen, his eyes hard with suspicion, and said, ‘You and Iolo?’
Owen drew out the leather pouch that held the letters from Tangwystl and Bishop Houghton. He slipped the thong over his head, held out the pouch to Geoffrey.
Geoffrey hesitated, then took the proffered pouch. ‘What are you doing?’
‘One of us must see that these documents are safe with the Archdeacon of Carmarthen.’
‘You mean to leave me here while you meet with Martin Wirthir?’
‘There is no need for both of us to confer with Wirthir.’
Geoffrey dropped his head, but Owen saw how his hands clutched the pouch. ‘I am not one of your men, to lead round at your will.’
‘I would not trust these papers with one of them. There is much to explain to the archdeacon, and they could not do that.’
‘You will join me after talking to the Fleming?’
‘I shall do whatever will resolve these troubles. If I must ride to protect Father Edern and his brother, so be it.’
‘What if Martin Wirthir is a spy for Owain Lawgoch?’
‘It does not matter. What does matter is that it suits him at the moment to assist us.’
‘What do you think of Owain Lawgoch?’
‘He is King Charles’s puppet.’
With his eyes on the pouch rather than Owen, Geoffrey asked, ‘Is that what you really think?’
‘So this is what we have come to, a matter of trust. Do you trust me?’
Geoffrey raised his head, studied Owen’s face. After what seemed to Owen an eternity in which he wondered about his next move, Geoffrey shifted, sighed, and slipped the leather thong over his head. ‘What else must I do?’
Owen told him the rest of his plan.
Hallelujah, God is merciful, Michaelo thought as he looked over Sir John’s shoulder and saw Geoffrey Chaucer enter the great hall. Sir Robert will be overjoyed to see his son-in-law. But Chaucer appeared to be alone. He caught Michaelo’s eye, shook his head. Michaelo searched his mind quickly for something to say that might keep his companions sparring.
‘You have come chasing after your wife, Sir John? She is not permitted to go on pilgrimage in this holy season?’
‘I have come seeking a man of God, monk, to take back with me to the garrison of Cydweli. Some wretch attacked our chaplain. He was so brutally beaten he died of his injuries.’
‘Father Francis?’ Tangwystl said in a voice so small Michaelo turned to her in concern. Her complexion had lost all its glow and colour, and as he watched she put a trembling hand up to her cheek and crumpled in a faint. Sir John caught her up as she fell. ‘Where is her chamber?’ he demanded, his face ashen. ‘Dear God, I did not mean to frighten her so.’
The hall was suddenly alive with people offering assistance. A bench was dragged over, a servant came running with wine. Sir John lowered himself on to the bench with Tangwystl still firmly in his arms. He bent over her, whispering her name, trying to get her to take some of the wine.
Brother Michaelo sat down beside Sir John, weak with relief. His ploy had almost been his undoing.
A fog was rolling in off the sea, dulling the late afternoon sun to a twilight dimness and evening out the shadows. Owen and Iolo met the fog as they climbed up out of the valley. As it thickened they dismounted to lead their horses along the uneven ground. The countryside was quiet except for the gulls riding inland on the fog and a lone dog who barked a warning as they passed close to a rocky outcrop, then disappeared behind it. Owen listened for the sound of its herd, but only the gulls called.
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