The Running Vixen (26 page)

Adam raised a sceptical eyebrow but forbore in the interests of peace to comment.

The Earl sighed, cast him a doubtful look from beneath hoary brows and said, ‘Geoffrey of Anjou is far more than a champing young stallion bought to prove his worth at stud. I grant you that he’s tall and handsome to look upon, but he’s also well-educated, and certainly no political innocent. His father has taught him well and he has the makings of a fine warrior and general. If we make Geoffrey Matilda’s consort, then Fulke, as his father, won’t be as eager to stir up the mud using William le Clito as his stick.’

‘Ah,’ said Adam, beginning to understand. Henry’s obsession. ‘It has to do with le Clito again.’

‘It has to do with a very dangerous thorn in our side,’ the Earl corrected him. ‘Pluck out the root from which it draws sustenance, and it will wither and die.’

‘You are gambling for very high stakes.’ Adam leaned down to adjust his stirrup. ‘If you succeed and your father can hold the reins until he has grandsons old enough, then it will be a gamble well repaid. If it fails . . .’ He straightened and looked bleakly at the cascading water without finishing the sentence.

‘It won’t fail,’ Gloucester said forcefully. ‘Can I give my father your yea-say that you’ll go herald in payment of your forty days’ service this year?’

‘I’ll think about it,’ Adam said neutrally.

‘I need to know within the week.’

Adam inclined his head, but refused to give more response than that.

‘My lady.’ The Earl inclined his head to Heulwen as she guided her grey mare carefully down to join them.

‘Sire.’ She slackened the reins to let Gemini crop at the grass and looked at the Earl. ‘Mama wants a word with you - something about getting Henry to learn English. She thinks it will stand him in good stead when Papa gives him Oxley, and she also wants to ask you the name of that stone carver from Bristol you mentioned yesterday.’

The Earl smiled at her, but in a distant way, his mind obviously not on such day-to-day trivia. He looked hard at Adam. ‘Within the week,’ he repeated, setting his cap back on his head at a rakish angle. ‘Is de Gernons still at the keep?’ he asked Heulwen.

Her lip curled. ‘Just preparing to leave. His temper’s about as vile as the headache he’s nursing; I shouldn’t go near him.’

‘I won’t. I think I’ll take the long way back. The horse needs a good workout, anyway.’

They watched him leave. The hoofbeats and the voices of his escort faded through the trees. The falls roared. Adam’s face felt stiff. He slid his fingers along the reins and applied gentle pressure.

‘Trouble?’ Heulwen followed him back to where Austin and Sweyn were waiting.

He turned his mouth down. ‘Only to my conscience. I have known this has been coming for a long time. I should have been better prepared, but I’m not.’

Vaillantif’s hind legs slithered on mud, but he lunged powerfully with forequarters and neck and recovered. The woods enclosed them, smelling of damp and fungus. Dormant bramble bushes snagged at their cloaks as they rode through the forest in silence. Heulwen let the reins hang slack, for Gemini was placidly following the stallion’s lead. She stared anxiously at Adam’s back, knowing that she could not force him to tell her what was on his mind.

The trees thinned and they came suddenly upon a clearing and the mossed-over remains of a once-proud building, now reduced to chunks of tumbled stone. Some white edges only just beginning to rethread with green gave evidence of pieces having been recently cut.

Adam dismounted and tethered Vaillantif to a young tree. A weasel leaped over his boot and streaked away through the damp grass. The sunlight broke through the clouds and trees to stroke weak fingers over the ruins. Heulwen jumped down from the mare and tied her beside the destrier.

‘Why have we stopped?’ Shivering, she stooped under a low hanging branch. Twigs stretched like fingers. She felt as if hidden eyes were watching her every movement.

Adam caught her hand in his. ‘Whimsy,’ he smiled. ‘I used to come here sometimes as a boy when we visited Milnham-on-Wye with your father.’

‘You never brought me!’ she said half indignantly, for in childhood she had thought to share every secret and experience of Adam’s - the still, clear backwater of the Wye so wonderful for summer swimming, the haunted well at the farmstead where the Welsh had raided, the rock upon Caermoel ridge with its strange carvings.

He tightened his fingers around hers and raised them briefly to his lips. ‘It was in the days when you did nothing but dream about Ralf and scheme how to get him,’ he said without rancour, and drew her around an outcrop of masonry and between some broken stumps of rock. ‘I wasn’t good company myself, then. I think it’s Roman. Look, you can see where they’ve taken pieces recently for that new section of curtain wall.’ He rubbed his hand over a jagged white edge, then wiped away the smear on his cloak.

‘Was I really so heedless?’ Heulwen asked.

He shrugged, trying for lightness and not quite succeeding. ‘You had other matters on your mind, and I had long been a piece of familiar household furniture taken for granted - your foster brother.’

‘Oh, Adam!’ Her throat tightened and her eyes began to sting.

‘Everyone blamed my moods on my growing body, not on jealous sulks - and this was an excellent place to come and sulk alone, opportunity permitting.’ Abruptly he tugged at her hand. ‘Come.’

He led her onwards until they came to a short avenue overgrown with brambles, straggling grass and tree saplings. Out of the tangle grew jagged slender pillars of grooved, weathered stone, and at the end of the avenue was a section of tessellated mosaic floor depicting a hunting scene. Fragments here and there were missing or displaced by tree roots, and chunks of stone from what had once been a roof married one edge, but the overall effect was still magnificent.

‘There’s another one over there,’ Adam nodded, ‘but it’s more broken than this one. I would come here and work on it - clear the debris so I could see what lay beneath.’

Heulwen picked her way among the ruins to look. He followed her. A spring of icy water bubbled up near their feet and meandered away in the rough direction of Rhaeadr Cyfnos. Rooks cawed somewhere above the dark trees. Behind them the horses snorted and champed. Adam returned to Vaillantif; unslinging the wine costrel from around the cantle, he brought it to Heulwen, who now sat on a block of lichened stone regarding the hunting mosaic.

‘Drink?’ He withdrew the stopper and held it out to her. Companionably they shared the wine and contemplated the ruins.

‘I wonder who lived here?’ Heulwen mused.

Adam wiped his mouth and shrugged. ‘I don’t know. Some of the stones have inscriptions, but they’re either too weathered to read or parts are missing. I had thought to make a copy of the hunting mosaic at Thornford in the plesaunce. What do you think?’

Heulwen nodded approval and swallowed her mouthful of the rich, tart wine. ‘And the herb beds fanning out from it.’

Adam gave her a bright amber glance. ‘I thought I’d change some of the animals, though - wolves and vixens instead of boar, perhaps a leopard or two since they are your father’s device, and most certainly some horses.’

‘A sorrel with cream mane and tail,’ she smiled.

He raised one eyebrow. ‘In pursuit of the vixens?’

She laughed and swiped at him. He ducked and dragged her down off the stone and into his arms. Cold, tasting of wine, their lips met and through the laughter, desire rippled suddenly like a bright thread decorating a garment.

‘I think you should also include a priapus,’ she murmured against his mouth.

‘Only if there are nymphs in it too!’ he retorted. ‘Stop that, you hoyden. Austin might not bat an eyelid, but Sweyn’s more set in his ways. You’ll shock him for certain!’

She glanced over his shoulder. ‘They can’t see us from here.’ She kissed him, her tongue flickering as delicately as a serpent’s. His hand strayed down to the curve of her buttocks and squeezed her against him. Despite his protest, he began to wonder hazily where they could lie, or failing that if it would be possible standing up, for there was no great discrepancy in their heights. The novelty of that thought increased his arousal and his breath caught and shortened as Heulwen tightened and relaxed against him. What had started out as a jest was swiftly becoming a desire-driven imperative. ‘Heulwen, let me . . .’ he said hoarsely, but the jingle of harness and the noise of horses pushing through the trees made him look up and then stop what he was doing and swing her hard around, so that she was shielded by his body.

‘Adam, what’s the matter, why are you—?’

Behind them a sword cleared its scabbard. ‘Sweyn, put up,’ said Adam without taking his eyes off the men who were moving through the trees and surrounding them. The sword grated back into its sheath, but the old warrior moved closer to Adam, as did the squire.

Rhodri ap Tewdr drew rein and contemplated the small group before him, while at his back, his men shifted restlessly.

‘Welcome to the tryst.’ Adam performed a mocking bow. ‘May I enquire what you are doing so far from home?’

‘A matter of unfinished business.’ Rhodri levelled the spear he was carrying and directed it at Adam’s breast.

Heulwen stiffened, her thoughts flying to Thornford’s tilt yard and the moment when the Welsh prince had almost ridden Adam down. She took an involuntary step forwards, but Adam gestured her back. ‘Such as?’ he said and, as before, stood his ground, matching Rhodri look for look.

The latter held the moment for a long time before tossing the spear to the soldier beside him. Adam breathed out, cold sweat slicking his palms. Rhodri smiled as he saw the tell-tale trail of vapour coil the air. Dismounting, he tied his horse to a sturdy beech sapling.

‘I want a truce,’ he announced. ‘There has been too much blood spilled already and I don’t want to see this summer’s harvest go up in flames - mine or yours.’

‘I’m in full agreement with that,’ Adam said, steadying the euphoria of relief into a careful neutrality. He reached for the costrel lying on the stone and handed it to Rhodri. ‘If you cease raiding over the dyke and making a nuisance of yourself among my father-in-law’s tenants, I’ll try to persuade him and the rest of the funeral guests that exterminating you is not the next best thing to going on crusade.’

‘I am sorry about Lord Miles.’ Rhodri drank from the skin and returned it. ‘I learned respect and fondness for him during the time that I was your prisoner. If I could undo the manner of his dying I would. Davydd went too far.’

‘And paid for it,’ Adam said with grim satisfaction.

Dull colour suffused Rhodri’s skin. His cloak brooch flashed as he took a deep breath. ‘Yes, he paid for it,’ he said, his voice over-controlled. ‘But our raiding began as revenge - we were provoked. Our grazing lands are being ruined by Ravenstow’s tenants, and yours too on the southern side. Only last autumn one of your villages cleared an assart on our side of the border, and on le Chevalier’s former lands the boundary stones have been moved. I know they have. I came down that way to be here. We are only taking back what is ours!’ His dark eyes burned as he looked from Adam to Heulwen, half accusing, half defensive.

Adam inclined his head, acknowledging Rhodri’s argument. ‘I will talk to my bailiffs and stewards, and I’ll ride out and see for myself what liberties have been taken. Send a witness to attend on me if you want. Peace never flourishes on half-measures.’ He frowned and folded his arms. ‘As to your complaint with the Earl of Ravenstow, you’ll need to talk to him yourself. I cannot vouchsafe for him or his tenants.’

‘That is the reason I am here,’ Rhodri said sombrely. ‘I knew he would be here . . . and also I want to pay my respects to Lord Miles. I need you to give me safe escort to the keep.’

Adam sucked in his cheeks and looked dubiously at his wife. ‘Did you say that de Gernons was leaving?’

She nodded. ‘He should have gone by now.’

‘Yes,’ he confirmed, ‘I can give you safe escort.’ And then he looked at him curiously. ‘How did you know I would be here?’

Rhodri smiled slyly and stroked his stallion’s shaggy neck. ‘I knew that sooner or later you would be out from the castle to exercise your horse or hunt. It was only a matter of keeping my eyes open and myself out of sight. I’ve been watching you for the past hour.’ The smile deepened into an open grin.

Heulwen blushed. Colour darkened Adam’s face.

‘How much did you hear?’ he asked quietly.

Rhodri deliberately misunderstood the question. ‘Enough to know how much you were enjoying yourselves, ’ he said, his gaze running over Heulwen with appreciation.

‘You know what I mean.’

Rhodri opened his palms. ‘Not a great deal. The roar of the falls unfortunately concealed most of what you and that other Norman were saying. Still, I suppose from the look on your face that if I were to bellow the news abroad, you’d cancel my safe escort.’

‘You know the strength of my sword-arm.’

Rhodri’s face was unreadable. The smirk, however, had gone. ‘You Normans,’ he said contemptuously, ‘always conspiring in corners against each other.’ He looked round at his war band. ‘
Fe fynn y gwir ei le eh?
’

Adam’s colour remained high.
The truth will out
: he knew enough Welsh to understand that simple saying. He was aware of Heulwen watching him and that he could not deny Rhodri’s words. ‘That’s rich coming from a Welshman,’ he retorted, and added shortly over his shoulder, ‘Austin, stop gawping like a turnip-wit and get our horses. We’re returning to Milnham.’

Heulwen picked up her sewing, grimaced at it with extreme disfavour, and uttering a sigh started to push the needle through the fabric. It was a shirt for Adam, a basic, simple garment within her scope, but a genuine and literal labour of love since needlework of any kind was to her a form of purgatory, and it was a mark of her desperation that she was tackling it beyond her daily allotted stint.

There was nothing else to do. Father Thomas, Adam’s chaplain, had said he would give her a copy of
Tristan
to read, but the howling storm outside had kept him the night at the monastery five miles away. A visiting itinerant lute-player had left them at dawn before the weather took a turn for the worse, hoping to make Ledworth by nightfall. The carrier was not due for at least another week with his budget of news and gossip, and Adam’s mood was fouler than the weather that kept them huddled so close to the hearth. She darted a glance to the trestle near the fire where he sat, flagon and goblet close to hand. The last three days he had scarcely been sober, drinking as if to exorcise some demon. He was not drunk now, but the evening was still young, only just past dusk and the flagon full. By the time they retired it would be down to the lees.