Lords of the White Castle (57 page)

'Surely such a gift may yet be granted to you,' Maude said in a tone of gentle concern. 'You have not been married to your lord for long.'

Clemence shrugged. 'Almost four years. How long were you wedded to yours before you conceived?'

The answer being a week, Maude said nothing.

'Ranulf was married to Constance of Brittany before me and there was no issue from their marriage either,' she said, i doubt in my heart that it will ever fall my lot to mother a child, although daily I pray.'

'I am sorry,' Maude said softly, 'that must be a grief to you and your lord.' She ran her hand over the folds of blue linen and felt the slight swell of her fecund womb. '
I
would be honoured to have you and Ranulf as godparents to my next child.'

'And I would be happy to oblige.' Clemence's soft grey eyes misted with tears of pleasure and pain. The women embraced. Not wanting to be left out, Hawise came to join in and Jonetta let out a protesting squeal. Laughing, tears running down her cheeks, Clemence swept the smaller infant into her arms and gave her a longing cuddle. And Maude realised how fortunate she was; that, whatever the obstacles of daily life, she still had everything she wanted.

CHAPTER 30

In the summer, Fulke and Maude attended another wedding, but this time unalloyed pleasure shared their sense of obligation. Barbette was to marry a young Welsh nobleman: the son of Madoc ap Rhys who had halted Fulke and his brothers on their first foray into Wales in search of Llewelyn.

Despite her advancing pregnancy, Maude insisted on escorting Barbette to the nuptials at Dolwyddelan Castle. After all, she declared, it was only mid July and the child was not due until late September.

They took two days over the fifty-mile journey, so that Maude was able to rest along the way. There was time to gaze at the grandeur of the Welsh scenery, the purple darkness of shadowed hills and the narrow cascades of white water cutting paths down the precipitous slopes of the mountains. It was not a gentle land, but it was beautiful and filled the mind with awe at God's creation.

Maude's new maid Gracia stared open-mouthed at the sight of the slopes of Moel Siabod lowering over the keep at Dolwyddelan. She had been born and raised on one of Hubert Walter's East Anglian manors and this was the first time that she had seen mountains.

Fulke was amused at her awe. 'The further you go, the higher they get,' he told her. 'The Welsh have a mountain called Yr Wyddfa that stands with its head in the clouds. Eryri they call it. The place of eagles.'

'I prefer Whittington,' Gracia said in her flat, forthright accent and scowled at the mountain as if she expected it to come tumbling down on her.

'I am glad to hear it,' Maude said. 'You won't be tempted to go off and leave me for a Welshman like Barbette then.' She gave her senior maid a smile to show that she was teasing.

The wedding was celebrated with joy and laughter, feasting and revelry. Three days later, Maude and Fulke set out again on the homeward journey to Whittington. It was an emotional farewell. Maude embraced Barbette and Barbette wept on Maude's neck. They had been close companions for eleven years, had grown together from girls into women and parting was a wrench.

'I will send word when the child is born,' Maude promised.

Barbette nodded and smiled through her tears. 'God speed you, my lady… my lord.' She reached up for Fulke to kiss her cheek.

The weather was kind and the roads firm. Fulke and Maude made good progress and it was only a little after midday when they stopped at Corwen to seek refreshment and rest the horses. Indeed, Maude was glad of the respite. For the last mile, she had been in discomfort with nagging backache and a heavy feeling in her loins but when Fulke asked her if she was all right, she nodded and forced a smile.

There was a hostelry in the settlement and they were served mead and yeasty golden ale with barley bread and ewes' milk cheese. They dined outside beneath the low-spreading branches of an apple tree in the garth. Maude was not particularly hungry but she made a token show
of
eating. Hawise, as usual, devoured her portion with almost masculine gusto and Jonetta nibbled daintily as if she had been receiving lessons in etiquette from the women of the court.

Fulke watched them with amusement. The princess and the peasant, he called them. Hawise left her father and clambered determinedly into her uncle Philip's lap. The match of hair colour and the family resemblance had led more than one person to think that she and her uncle were in fact father and daughter. 'Her appetite puts me in mind of Richard,' Philip grinned.

'Let us hope she never attains his girth,' Fulke said wryly. His two youngest brothers and Ivo were at Whittington, guarding its walls. Only Philip and William had accompanied him and Maude to the wedding. Given his bulk, Richard was a better custodian than he was a traveller and Ivo and Alain rubbed along well together.

Maude pressed her hands to her abdomen, tautly swollen beneath the concealing sweep of her blue surcoat. At least Richard's girth was spread around his body, she thought, and caught the landlord's eye on her again. He and his wife had been watching them covertly throughout the meal. At first Maude had thought that it was the natural reaction to having noble guests descend on them but now she was beginning to wonder. Even if their clothes were fine and the men made a show with their mail and weapons, the scrutiny was a little too close for comfort.

The wife murmured to her husband. He shook his head and abruptly returned to the alehouse. Arms folded ready for a fight, she followed him.

'Whoever says that men rule the roost is not a married man,' Fulke grinned. 'I would not wager on the poor soul's chances.'

'I would not wager on yours, either,' Maude said tartly.

Whatever the altercation taking place, there were no raised voices. Moments later, the wife emerged clutching a besom and proceeded to vigorously sweep the area before the alehouse door. There was no sign of the husband.

'Likely she's belaboured him to death,' Fulke commented.

'If she has, then he must have deserved it,' Maude snapped, feeling irritated.

'Men always do,' Fulke said ruefully.

The alewife ceased brooming, glanced over her shoulder into the dwelling, then walked briskly over to Fulke and his troop.

'My lord, you should know that there were armed men here earlier,' she said quickly, her Welsh accent running the words together. 'From their talk as I served them, they intended laying an ambush across the road about a mile from here. It might be better if you were to take another path.' Her gaze went from the two infants to Maude and her expression made Maude lay her hand protectively across her womb.

Fulke sat up, all trace of humour leaving his face. 'How many?' he demanded. 'How long ago?'

'More than an hour and at least a dozen of them,' the woman said. 'They were speaking of a party of travellers with small children amongst them whom they were expecting to come this way from Dolwyddelan! My husband says it is none of our business.' She darted a look towards the hostelry and then back to Fulke. 'Mayhap it isn't, but it would be for ever on my conscience if I let you ride on without warning you—for the babies' sake. I got two young grandchildren of my own, see, and my daughter's carrying again.'

'Thank you, mistress.' Fulke gave her a silver penny from his pouch. At first she refused it, saying she had not told him for a price, but he insisted. 'For your grandchildren if not for you. 'At last she accepted the coin, and returned to sweeping her spotless threshold over-vigorously, her lips compressed.

'Doubtless one has been tracking us and the others lying in wait,' Fulke said grimly. 'They'll put themselves between us and Whittington and spring an ambush at some likely place.'

'We can take them,' William said with a fierce gesture. 'There are fifteen of us.'

'Fifteen fighting men,' Fulke nodded, 'two laden pack-horses, two women, one of them great with child, and two infants.'

'They could stay behind. 'William jerked his chin at the hostelry.

'With men to guard them, of course,' Fulke said, 'which would bring our numbers down. And do not say there is no need for a guard. It would be worth any man's while to take my wife and daughters captive.'

William scowled and gnawed at his thumbnail.

'Take Stephen and Ralf and ride scout for me,' Fulke said. 'I need to know their whereabouts and movements… and who they are.'

Maude watched William and his companions mount up and ride off. Suddenly she felt very close to tears. Her back was hurting abominably and all she wanted was a quiet haven where she could lie down and rest without worrying about danger or pursuit. For the nonce, it was a prospect as distant as the moon.

Fulke laid his hand over hers and squeezed her fingers. Then he rose and went to fetch their horses. She watched him, her heart aching with love and fear.

Instead of taking the road to Llangollen and an evening's rest, Fulke led them north-east along the Afon Morwynion. Maude gritted her teeth as her mount bumped along the narrow track. The dull ache in her back had become a sawing pain. She told herself that it would go away if she ignored it. She sang songs to the girls and rocked Jonetta in her arms to stop her from grizzling. Her womb tightened like a drum, and the pains grew steadily worse, causing her to bite her lower lip and grip the reins with whitening knuckles.

A horseman came galloping up fast from behind. Fulke's hand tensed on his sword hilt as the sound of hooves came closer, then relaxed as he recognised Ralf Gras.

'What news?' he demanded, drawing his horse round.

'They've gone to ground in a thicket off the Llangollen road, my lord,' Ralf announced his eyes gleaming beneath the banded browline of his helm. 'And they're being led by Henry Furnel and Gwyn FitzMorys.'

Fulke swore softly, although it was no less than he had expected. Any opportunity they got they would try and bring him down. He looked narrowly at Ralf. 'Where's William?'

The knight's gaze shifted from Fulke's. He cleared his throat. 'He thought that a few spare horses would not go astray, so to speak, my lord. He says he will join you with mem at Whittington on the morrow.'

Fulke groaned. 'He will never change,' he said to Maude. 'He doesn't just spy on them and come away, he steals their horses.'

Maude had small interest in William for the nonce. 'How much farther must we travel before we're safe?' she asked distractedly as she rubbed her back.

His eyes sharpened. 'What's wrong?'

'Nothing. I'm just saddle-weary and the child is pressing against my spine.'

He continued to look at her and she wished she had not spoken as she saw his anxiety deepen. 'We'll head for the grange at Carreg-y-nant,' he said. 'Then on the morrow we can double back to Whittington. It isn't far.' He took Jonetta from her, bounced her a couple of times to make her laugh, and then handed her to Gracia.

The name of the grange meant nothing to Maude, and she knew that 'not far' to Fulke, who was accustomed to riding at a pace twice as fast as this, could be an interminable distance to her.