The Warrior Princess Page 3

  ‘Only the Master can authorise such a thing on a member of his household,’ replied Emma, turning her head to face him again, ‘and he would never allow it.’

  ‘Well, you had better hope that he sticks around,’ said Salisbury, ‘for I would take great amusement in opening that old crone skin upon your back.’

  ‘The Master is going nowhere,’ said Emma.

  ‘Really?’ said Salisbury. ‘No man lives forever, wench.’

  Emma just stared in silence, knowing that she could never beat him in an argument.

  ‘Is there anything else?’ she asked eventually. ‘For I am on an errand for my lady.’

  ‘Are you really?’ he replied. He looked down at the contents of her basket. He picked up the flask and removed the cork stopper before smelling the contents. To Emma’s disgust he lifted the flask to his lips and took a mouthful, all the time his evil eyes never leaving hers.

  ‘That’s good wine,’ he said, wiping his mouth with the back of his hand. ‘Perhaps I should take it myself.’

  ‘Why are you doing this?’ asked Emma. ‘You never used to be so hurtful but these days it is as if you have the devil himself within you.’

  ‘A man changes, Emma,’ said Salisbury, ‘as does his ambitions. Now, away with you and I will see Lady Nesta gets her wine.’

  ‘But . . .’

  ‘Off with you, Emma, or you will indeed feel my ire.’

  Emma turned away and walked back towards the kitchens. She may have enjoyed a certain level of privilege at the castle but Salisbury was powerful and she knew she could only push back so hard.

  ‘You forgot this,’ shouted Salisbury as the empty basket hit her in the back. With a sigh she picked it up and continued on her way, upset by the sound of his laughter behind her.

  As he watched her go, John Salisbury took another swig of the wine, though this time he just swilled it around his mouth before spitting it carefully back into the flask. After replacing the stopper, he made his way up to the hall and threw open the door with vigour, deliberately causing it to crash into the wall. All the ladies jumped and turned to stare at the constable as he strode across the hall.

  ‘My apologies,’ he said with a grin. ‘Sometimes I underestimate my own power.’

  ‘Master Salisbury,’ said Nesta, any trace of mirth draining from her face. ‘This is a surprise, I thought you were out on an errand.’

  ‘I run no errands, my lady,’ said Salisbury. ‘I carry out the business of the king on behalf of the castellan, as you well know.’

  ‘My apologies,’ said Nesta. ‘But nevertheless, your appearance here surprises me. Surely it takes up more than a few hours to capture a brigand?’

  ‘Perhaps, but my quarry was an idiot and hid in the woodpile of his father’s farm, who, by the way, is now in the gaol awaiting trial for offering succour to a known thief.’

  ‘And his son?’

  ‘Already hanged,’ said Salisbury. ‘Do you mind if I join you?’ Without waiting for an answer he dragged a chair over and placed it next to Nesta. The women glanced at each other – more disturbed at the overfamiliarity of the constable than at the offhand way he dismissed the execution of a young man.

  ‘Master Salisbury,’ said Nesta, with a false smile. ‘Surely the simple activities of the castle ladies are below a man of your station?’

  ‘On the contrary,’ said Salisbury, pouring wine from the flask into Nesta’s goblet, ‘I have long been interested to find out what joy such a simple task brings.’ He returned her smile and turned to the rest of the women, offering up the flask. ‘Ladies?’

  Two of the ladies handed over their goblets while the others politely declined. An awkward silence fell around the table, a situation that Salisbury was revelling in.

  ‘So,’ he said, turning his attention to the tapestry spread out across the table, ‘how do we go about this?’

  Before anyone could respond, the outside door at the far end of the hall opened and a boy burst in to run across the hall. His sodden riding cloak still hung about his shoulders and he was bedraggled from the harsh winter weather.

  ‘Hold there,’ shouted Salisbury, jumping up from his seat. ‘Who are you to burst into the hall unannounced?’ His hand went to the hilt of his sword and the boy stopped dead in his tracks.

  ‘My lord!’ gasped the boy. ‘My apologies, but there was nobody to introduce me and I need to see the castellan immediately. Are you he?’

  ‘No, he is not,’ said Nesta quickly, she too standing up. ‘My husband is not here but I can take a message on his behalf. Declare yourself and your business.’

  ‘My lady,’ said the rider, ‘I am Iain Waters, a rider in the employ of the castellan at Carmarthen. I have a message for your husband’s eyes only, received yesterday from London.’

  ‘What is this message?’ asked Salisbury, leaving the table and striding towards the messenger.

  ‘I have been instructed to pass it to the castellan only,’ stuttered the boy, ‘on pain of punishment.’

  ‘Hand it over,’ said Salisbury, his voice lowering in warning, ‘or the punishment you fear will be nothing compared to what you will receive at my hands.’

  ‘My lady,’ said the messenger, looking across at Nesta with a pleading look on his face. ‘Is your husband anywhere near?’

  ‘I will send for him,’ said Nesta, walking towards the frightened boy. ‘Master Salisbury, stand down, can’t you see he is only doing his master’s will and since when is that a crime?’

  Salisbury didn’t answer but kept his hand on his sword.

  ‘Come to the fire,’ said Nesta, turning to the scared boy. ‘Let’s get you warmed up; you look freezing. Lady Margaret,’ she continued as she led the boy across the hall, ‘I’m afraid Emma seems to be detained elsewhere. Would you be so kind as to find a page and send him to find my husband?’

  ‘Don’t bother,’ snapped Salisbury. ‘He is in the treasury. I will bring him myself.’ He strode out of the hall leaving the rest staring after him.

  ‘Such an unpleasant man,’ said Lady Margaret, joining Nesta and the messenger near the fire. ‘Here, you must be frozen to the core.’ She gave him her goblet of wine and he drank it down eagerly. ‘I’m afraid it’s not warmed,’ said Margaret, ‘but it may defrost your innards.’ She turned to Nesta. ‘Shall I go to the kitchens and arrange some hot food, my lady?’

  ‘Yes. That would be good. Thank you.’

  Margaret left the room while one of the other ladies brought over a chair.

  ‘Take that sodden thing off,’ said Nesta. ‘And your jerkin. Quickly now, before you catch a chill.’

  ‘My lady,’ replied the messenger, ‘I will be bare-chested if I was to do such a thing, and that would never do in such fine company.’

  ‘Nonsense,’ said Nesta. ‘I have sons of my own and all are around the same age as you.’

  ‘What about them?’ asked the boy, nodding to the other ladies.

  ‘Trust me, they have all seen their fair share of naked chests before.’ She looked around and walked over to retrieve a cloak from the back of a chair.

  ‘Lady Nesta,’ said one of the other women, ‘that is my second-best cloak.’

  ‘Oh, hush your concerns,’ replied Nesta. ‘Can’t you see the lad is shivering? I will have my maid clean it for you if it bothers you so.’

  Her friend wasn’t happy but allowed her to continue.

  ‘Here,’ said Nesta, handing over the fine cloak. ‘You strip off and wrap yourself with this. I will arrange for your clothes to be dried before you return to Carmarthen.’

  ‘Thank you, my lady,’ said the boy.

  All the women returned to the table as the boy got undressed and soon he was wrapped in the fur-lined cloak, sat in a chair before the fire. Margaret returned, followed by Emma carrying a tray with a bowl of soup and a loaf of bread.

  ‘Please excuse me, my lady,’ said Emma, pushing past Lady Margaret, ‘I will take it from here.’

  ‘Thank you, Emma
,’ said Nesta. ‘Once he has completed his task, perhaps you can find him a cot until the storm subsides.’

  ‘Aye, that I will,’ said Emma as she knelt on the floor alongside the boy’s chair. She placed the tray on the table at his side.

  ‘You are in luck,’ she said gently. ‘There was a fresh pot of chicken stew on the fire for the staff’s supper. Now, eat up but be careful, it is a bit hot.’

  ‘Thank you, miss,’ said the boy and, foregoing the spoon, he lifted the bowl to his lips, blowing it gently before taking a sip of the warming stew.

  ‘It’s a fair stew, my lady,’ he said after the first few mouthfuls.

  ‘Good, now take your time and dip some of that bread into the juice. We’ll have you warm before you know it.’

  The doors opened again and Sir Gerald of Windsor walked into the room, closely followed by John of Salisbury.

  ‘I hear there is a message for me,’ said the castellan, striding across the hall.

  ‘Indeed,’ said Nesta, walking across to greet her imposing husband, ‘but first, let me take your cloak.’ She undid the ties around his chest and handed the garment to Emma, who exchanged it for a goblet of wine. Gerald emptied the goblet in one draft and handed it to Salisbury. The constable was annoyed to be used as no more than a mere servant but comforted himself with the knowledge he had already tasted and spat out the very same wine now circulating in the castellan’s gut.

  ‘So where is he?’ asked Gerald, looking around the room. ‘I still have business to attend.’

  ‘Here, my lord,’ said the boy, standing up from the chair. He bowed slightly and clutching at the cloak with one hand to keep it closed, reached for the leather saddlebag on the floor beside the chair. Salisbury strode forward and snatched the bag from him before delving inside and retrieving a note contained in a leather pouch. The pouch was sealed with the seal of the king.

  ‘Where has this come from?’ asked Gerald looking at the pouch. ‘Surely you haven’t ridden all the way from Windsor?’

  ‘No, my lord, but several of these were delivered to Carmarthen two days ago and have been sent out to all the castellans of Deheubarth. I was instructed to deliver this with all haste and to stop for neither food nor ale.’

  Gerald took a blade from his belt and cut the bindings along with the wax before retrieving the folded parchment within. Quietly he read the note and Nesta was shocked to see the colour drain from his face.

  ‘Gerald, what is it?’ she said.

  ‘Emma, gather the staff in the lesser hall,’ he replied, his voice shaking, ‘there is something they should know.’

  ‘At once, my lord,’ said Emma and she ran from the hall.

  ‘Well,’ said Nesta, ‘are we to wait like common servants or are you going to tell us what shocks you so?’

  ‘Aye, I will tell you,’ said Gerald. ‘But the news is not good, Nesta, and you should prepare yourself for the worst.’

  ‘Just spit it out, Gerald,’ said Nesta. ‘For every breath you linger makes me burn with fear.’

  ‘Has he declared war on these God forsaken people at last?’ said Salisbury. ‘For if he has, I, for one, will shed no tears.’

  ‘No,’ replied Gerald, turning to stare at Salisbury, ‘he has not declared war, nor is he ever going to. Our monarch has succumbed to illness. My friends, the king is dead.’

  Pembroke Castle

  December 8th, AD 1135

  Nesta stood at the window in her quarters, staring out over the town below the castle. Her tears had long dried, and though she had lain in her bed for many hours, sleep had evaded her as she realised an important phase of her life had come to an end.

  Despite her age, she knew that she was still a beautiful woman. Her dark hair, a source of pride in her younger years, was just as thick and as long as it had always been, and though the glow of youth had long gone, when she looked in the mirror these days, in its place she saw a woman who had lived an eventful life but had survived with grace, intellect and perhaps also, still, beauty.

  But it had not been easy and she was in a reflective mood since having heard the news about Henry. Though it had been many years since they had been together, his death reminded her how far she had come since those days. As a young woman she had been a firebrand and, there was no doubt, a risk to the English should the native Welsh of Deheubarth have rallied in her name. The move to London after the death of her father had been the one thing that had changed the course of her life.

  No longer part of Welsh society, she and the young French prince Henry had fallen deeply and madly in love. But it had soon become clear that the politics of the Crown meant she could never become his queen. The loss of Henry had been a hard time for her, not least because she had been pregnant with his child. But things had become a little easier with her marriage to Gerald of Windsor, the castellan of Pembroke. The move had helped ease the tensions between the English and Welsh of Deheubarth, her family’s ancestral home.

  She reflected now, as she turned to look in the mirror, that her life with Gerald had been good, although not without its troubles. It still pained her to remember the two years she had spent as a rebel with the Welsh prince Owain.

  Despite this, Gerald had remained loyal to her, never giving up on her, and when she was finally rescued, reality hit home and she knew she could not live the life of a rebel. All in all, she knew that, though as a child she had seen her life differently, she was – so long as Gerald lived and loved her – the wife of an English knight.

  A knock came on the door and she turned, expecting to see Emma but, surprisingly, it was her husband, Gerald.

  ‘Can I come in?’ he asked.

  ‘Since when have you had to ask permission to enter my bedchamber?’ she asked with a smile.

  ‘I know, but this is different. I thought you may want to be alone.’

  Nesta sighed deeply and walked over to her husband, placing a kiss upon his cheek. The past few years had treated them well and they had grown closer as they had grown older. It hadn’t always been this good, for when she had first been rescued from Owain ap Cadwgan years earlier, the relationship between them had been cold and unyielding. However, this coldness soon thawed and when she gave birth to Gerald’s second son, they had decided to try to make the relationship work, if only for political reasons and for the sake of their children. Since then they had each managed to forgive the other, and as the years had passed, a love grew between them that neither had expected.

  ‘It is very good for you to think that way, my love,’ said Nesta, ‘but my relationship with the king was a very long time ago. My tears are for my son, only, for he has lost his father.’

  ‘Still, you must have had feelings for Henry when you were with him?’

  ‘Remember, he was not the king at the time and we were both very young and without fear and thought of consequence.’

  ‘Have you heard from young Henry?’

  ‘Not for a while. The last I heard he was in London so I expect he is fully aware of his father’s fate. I just hope he doesn’t get caught up in any political manoeuvring as the scramble for the throne begins.’ Nesta walked over to her bed and picked up a hairbrush, drawing it slowly through her long thick hair as she stared unseeingly into the mirror fixed on the wall panelling.

  ‘What makes you think there will be manoeuvring?’ asked Gerald, walking over to the table to pour himself a drink. ‘Henry has made it clear that his daughter is his heir and will reign as queen.’

  ‘A woman on the throne of England?’ said Nesta with a laugh. ‘Can you really imagine such a thing? I don’t think any baron worth his salt will allow it to happen – despite the sworn oaths. No, Matilda may be a formidable woman, Gerald, but I can’t see her ever being queen.’

  Gerald walked over to the door and slid across the bolt. ‘Perhaps your son may have a claim.’

  ‘No, he doesn’t have a powerbase. Whoever it is going to be will need the support of the church, a will of iron and an army to back him
up.’

  Gerald sat on the bed beside Nesta. He took the brush from her hand and proceeded to brush her hair for her, each stroke slow and considered.

  ‘What will become of us, Gerald?’ she asked quietly. ‘You were Henry’s favoured knight. With him gone his successor may not see you in the same light. Is there a chance we may be in danger?’

  ‘I do not know the answer,’ said Gerald. ‘But I will say this. Any new monarch can ill afford to estrange any of his castellans or barons, and to do so invites open rebellion. We should sit tight and let the dice fall where they will. When the new king or queen is crowned, I will make representations to avow our loyalty. Hopefully, we should see no difference to our situation.’

  ‘I hope not, Gerald,’ said Nesta, ‘for, if truth be told, I don’t think I have ever been as happy as I have been these past few years.’

  Gerald smiled. He felt the same and had long forgiven Nesta for the two years she had spent with Owain. After all, she was still the mother of his children.

  ‘Nor I,’ said Gerald and he kissed her gently on the back of the neck.

  Nesta twisted her head around to return the affection, but as she did, a loud knock came on the door, interrupting the intimate moment. With a laugh of resignation, Gerald called, ‘Who is it?’

  ‘My lord, it is Emma. I have an urgent message for you.’

  ‘Can it not wait?’

  ‘No, my lord.’

  With a sigh Gerald turned back to Nesta. ‘I’m sorry, my love, I don’t think we are meant to have peace this day, the world is too busy sending messages.’

  ‘See to it, Gerald,’ she said. ‘I am going nowhere.’

  The castellan walked over to the door and threw back the bolt. Emma stood outside, her face ashen.

  ‘Emma, you look shaken,’ said Gerald. ‘What worries you so?’

  Before she could answer, Emma burst into tears and Gerald looked down to see a large dark stain spread across her usually spotless apron. ‘Emma, is that blood?’ he gasped. ‘Are you hurt?’

  Behind him, Nesta jumped from the bed and ran across the room. ‘Emma, what have you done?’