Chapter Twenty-one
Meg
Llywelyn left with a host of men-at-arms and I tried not to worry, as he asked. I had other things to occupy my mind. I hadn’t told him before he left, but I was having some contractions, every now and then. It was nothing serious, but similar to what had happened with Anna when I’d had contractions for three solid weeks before her birth. They would go on and on, reaching a crescendo toward early evening, only to die down around bedtime. Then they’d start over the next day at nine in the morning. Not fun.
And today was Halloween (though they didn’t call it that—it was All Hallow’s Eve), the day before All Saints Day. The celebrations were already beginning in the village, where the weekly fair was in full swing. I held Anna’s hand as we walked across the drawbridge and down the road to the market square. It had rained in the night, but not so much that the road was muddy. Little puddles pocked the road, and I tugged Anna away from them, not wanting her to get wet on the way there. I’d let her get wet on the walk home and then change her clothes.
Normally, as Llywelyn’s woman, I rode into the village, even for the short distance from the castle to the market, but at nearly nine months pregnant, I wasn’t allowed near a horse, much less on top of one. Beside us, two of Llywelyn’s men-at-arms walked —Bevyn again, undoubtedly irritated at being left to mind me, though Llywelyn had tried to appease him by implying that this was a grave responsibility and he’d better not screw it up, and Rhodri, the young man who’d befriended Anna at the Gap, a lifetime ago now.
To understand what a medieval village fair was like, you first had to do away with anything you’d ever learned from movies, and particularly, focus not on what things looked like, but how they smelled. I’d gotten used to it in large part, but the sensitivities of early pregnancy had reasserted themselves at this late stage and I had to close my nose as I entered the village. The smell was a nauseating concoction of frying food, tanning leather, smoke, urine, decomposing organic matter of every variety, and manure.
The village was closely compacted due to the town wall that surrounded it. This protected it, but it also contained it and made the townsfolk ‘in-fill’ rather than spread their houses out as was more usual in Welsh communities. Very often, villages in Wales consisted only a few huts in which an extended family lived: uncles and aunts, grandparents, cousins, and various distant relations.
At the most, these were in groups of five or six; the family worked together communally in the fields or in the raising of sheep, goats, and cattle. Many Welsh were also nomadic, splitting their time between the pastures of the lowlands in the winter, and the mountain meadows in the summer. The market fair, then, was an exciting event for everybody, and because of the imminent holiday, the Brecon fair had brought in revelers from miles around.
Anna swung between Rhodri and me. We lifted her over a particularly noxious clod of refuse. He and I exchanged a glance of understanding, and he swung her onto his hip.
“Let’s see what trouble we can get into, shall we?” he said to her.
She smiled and touched a finger to his burgeoning mustache. Fashions were changing in Wales and more and more of the men sporting them. I hoped Llywelyn would refrain from growing one, but Bevyn looked at Rhodri with something bordering on envy. I wanted to tell him that he’d grow up—and acquire the ability to grow one—
soon enough.
Rhodri and Anna stopped at a display of finger whistles. The proprietor took one out and handed it to her—a classic tactic which meant that if I didn’t pay for it, I would either have an irate seller or a crying daughter. Sighing, I opened my purse. Bevyn leaned in, took out an appropriate amount, and began to bargain with the man. He and Rhodri had evidently decided, as had been the case in the past, that they still didn’t trust my Welsh enough to allow me to bargain all by myself. They were probably right. Anna’s Welsh was coming along so well she might do better than I.
The stalls circled the village green and lined the road on both sides into the village. Players had set up their tent in the middle of the green—I wondered what we’d get this time. All Hallow’s Eve, so far, was showing itself not to be my favorite holiday in Wales. I didn’t like all the ghosts and witch talk, especially if any of that talk was going to be directed at me, and I wasn’t sure that some of it hadn’t been.
“Did you hear she knew about the ambush at Coedwig Gap before it happened?”
“Did you know that only she and the Prince were spared when the entire castle was poisoned?”
“Had you heard that she can read?”
“Don’t you worry, my lady,” Bevyn said, gesturing to the costumes and strange decorations. “No one will harm you today.”
“Why is that, Bevyn?” I asked. “Because they think I’m a witch and will cast a spell on them?”
“Not at all!” Bevyn said. “Where did you get that idea? Nobody’s saying that!”
“I’m sorry, Bevyn,” I said. “I must have misunderstood some of the gossip I overheard.”
“It’s true that you confuse people, but you’ve brought nothing but luck to the Prince. And now you will give him a son!”
Oh don’t say that! What if it’s a girl?
Then he put his hand on my arm, and the boyish exuberance was gone. “Your lord will be fine. Gilbert de Clare is a knight. His father was a force to be reckoned with in the Marche and he will not betray that memory.”
“I don’t know about that, Bevyn,” I said. “That’s probably why he’s so belligerent. He feels like he has large boots to fill and he’s worried he won’t be able to.”
“It’s every son’s fear,” Bevyn said.
“I don’t want to think about it.”
“It’s right before you,” Bevyn said, and he didn’t have to gesture towards my belly for me to know what he meant. “Every man is haunted by his father’s expectations—it’s a jumble of hatred, fear, loyalty, and love.”
“I loved my father,” I said.
Bevyn snorted. “You’re a girl. It’s different with you.”
I was offended, but I also thought he was wrong and told him so. “It’s different but not as much as you think. It isn’t that he expected me to ever fight a battle, or lord my authority over anyone, but he had expectations for me that I failed to live up to, even as I knew my failure would sadden him.” I glanced at Bevyn, not sure he was capable of understanding.
“I would like to see Anna grown,” Bevyn said. “I’d like to know that she’s like you.”
“And this child,” I said, resting a hand on my stomach.
“Your son is going to be a great man. He’ll put us all to shame.”
“He’ll have to learn Latin,” I said. “Poor boy.”
Bevyn grinned.
We passed several huts whose occupants had left out pitchers of drink and plates of food to distract and satisfy the dead, so they wouldn’t bother the living. I hoped Bevyn was right. Maybe I’d misunderstood the glances and stares—that they were admiring, rather than fearful.
With the Christian Church overtaking Wales, Halloween was becoming incorporated into All Saints’ Day, a day set aside to honor all the Saints in the Christian calendar. Quite frankly, I was dreading having to sit in church for half the day tomorrow and was already planning my escape, pleading an antsy Anna or the onset of labor, even if it wasn’t true.
The drama the players had begun in the center of the green was one I’d seen before, depicting the life of St. David, the patron Saint of Wales. As he was conceived through the rape of a nun, and the players embellished his life with rather dramatic exorcisms of various exotic creatures, it was definitely rated R and I pulled Anna away before she could see more than a minute of it. She was only three, but the masks they wore were scary even for me.
On the other side of the green, I found my favorite stall—the one that made scented soaps. I wasn’t allowed lavender anymore, since it could induce miscarriage, but many other scents attracted me and it was a heady mix to stand under the tent and block out the rest of the market. I knew the soap-maker well, so I was surprised to see a new person, a young man, turn to me today.
“Madam,” he said.
“Good morning.” I looked hard at him, recognizing his voice but not sure from where. Then he tugged his hood back so I could see his face and put one finger to his lips.
“How may I help you today?” he said, in a loud voice
I stepped closer and lowered mine. “Humphrey! What are you doing here? Why are you disguised?”
“Where is the Prince?” he asked, tense and urgent.
“He left us four days ago for Bwlch, to meet Clare. The conference is set for this afternoon.”
Humphrey swore. “My grandfather believes that Clare will betray him.”
I sucked in a breath. “Why? How do you know?”
“We’ve had word,” he said grimly.
“I warned him myself,” I said. “It wasn’t that he didn’t listen, but he thinks everything is a trap and said he would take the usual precautions.”
“He may need more than the usual,” Humphrey said, “if my grandfather is right. It’s possible Clare brings an army against him.”
Feeling faint, I looked for Bevyn. Spying him, I gestured him closer and then turned back to Humphrey. “Why are you hiding? You could have walked into the hall to tell me this.”
“The tension among my grandfather’s allies in the Marche is such that he would rather nobody knew of our involvement.”
“And yet you came to warn us?”
Humphrey gazed at me, his eyes like flint, looking far older than his nineteen years. “You expected otherwise from me?”
“I didn’t know,” I said. “When you left us, you didn’t know yourself.”
“What is it?” Bevyn said. Then he recognized Humphrey and his face reddened. “What are you doing here?”
“The Prince is in danger,” Humphrey said.
“Someone must ride to warn Llywelyn.” I tugged on Bevyn’s sleeve. “Humphrey says that an entire army might wait for him in Bwlch.”
Bevyn studied Humphrey. “I don’t trust you.”
“You don’t have to trust me,” Humphrey said, “but you must ride for Bwlch immediately.”
“Bevyn, please,” I said. “We have few men in the garrison, but they could leave within the hour. I would go to him, but I can’t, not—”
“I can,” Humphrey said. “I have men waiting for me on the hills above Felinfach. The Prince will need them.”
Bevyn came alive at that. “No Bohun is going to lead the rescue of my prince. Leave the soaps and come to the castle. Tudur needs to hear of this and he can decide who rides and who doesn’t.”
Humphrey tugged his hood over his face again. Bevyn hustled him down the road toward the castle, swerving in and among the other revelers until they were lost from view.
“Where’s Bevyn going?” Rhodri’s head was turned toward the spot Humphrey and Bevyn had been, and now made his way to my side, still carrying Anna.
“To the castle. The Prince is walking into an ambush,” I said. “We need to get back. Tudur is going to need you.”