Читать книгу The Devil’s Diadem - Sara Douglass - Страница 27

Pengraic Castle was a marvel, but it also disconcerted me as it was so vast. I felt lost amid its huge chambers and the tight, winding stairwells that appeared suddenly in the most surprising of spaces.

My days were mostly spent in the great keep, and those mostly on the upper level … here was the solar and the lord’s privy chamber, as well the male and female dormitories for servants and guards. The ground level housed the great hall, the kitchens, and the storage and stabling areas. Because the earl was not in residence and Lady Adelie was not well, I did not eat in the great hall, which was where the majority of the servants, soldiers and knights dined, but rather took my meals with the countess in either the solar or her chamber.

I was awed not only by the size of the castle, and its complexity (which took me weeks to fathom), but also by the richness of its amenities and furnishings. The great hall, the solar, and even the lord’s chamber, were well furnished with enormous fireplaces which had chimneys to take away the smoke (the great hall had two fireplaces, which would keep it warm on the coldest of nights).

The wooden floors were spread with woven rugs, the walls hung with tapestries of such skilled work that they amazed me, and often, when the countess did not require my presence, I spent much time in tracing the story lines embroidered into their fabric.

The countess kept mainly to the solar during the day, and her privy chamber in the evening and night. She rarely ventured beyond those two chambers. All her meals were taken here. I assisted her morning and night to robe and then disrobe, and attend to her needs at those times, but during the day Mistress Yvette mostly kept her company, and I was left free for other duties.

As at Rosseley, these mostly involved the children. Ancel and Robert, the twins, were no longer with the household so their mischief no longer concerned me. Alice and Emmette, almost grown ladies, tended to keep to themselves, or else sat with their mother learning their stitching and embroideries. That left John, the baby, and Rosamund, and as the nurse tended John for most of the time, it meant that Rosamund and I spent much of our days together.

I did not mind, for she was a delightful child and I loved her dearly. Sometimes she and I played in the solar, but the noise of our merriment oft disturbed the countess, and we sought our amusements elsewhere.

The children, as did the nurse, slept in the female dormitory (itself portioned into different apartments) which ran immediately off the solar (the men’s dormitory lay on the western side of the keep). After a few days of running and playing in there, I decided we both needed to venture further than the living quarters on the upper level.

I took Rosamund into the solar, where the countess sat with Mistress Yvette, Alice and Emmette.

‘My lady,’ I said, ‘Rosamund needs to run, and we both need the fresh air. May I take her for a walk in the inner bailey?’

‘Be wary of the horses,’ said Lady Adelie, ‘and do not get in the way of the knights or soldiers.’

‘I will be careful, my lady.’

And thus we were free to explore a little. I was thrilled. While I marvelled at the richness and luxury of the lord’s chambers, I still longed for the open air and the sun on my face. I took Rosamund by the hand and together we descended the stairwell.

The kitchens and the courtyard of the great keep were alive with activity: servants hurried to and fro, and the courtyard had a half score of horses being groomed. I gathered Rosamund in my arms, not wanting her to be trampled, and together we walked through the gate to the inner bailey.

I’d only had a glimpse of the inner bailey when we’d first arrived, as upon entering the main gate I’d been directed into the great keep’s courtyard. I’d had a sense of great space, and I knew I’d seen trees and gardens, which had surprised me.

Now, as I slipped through the keep’s gateway to the inner bailey, I could see that the walls enclosed a vast area, two large portions of which were given over to orchards, herb and food gardens. I turned to my left where there was a garden growing in the space bounded by the keep, the outer ring of defence wall and the chapel, a large and gracious building which ran from the outer wall into the centre of the bailey. It was a large garden, sheltered from the constant movement of men and horses through the inner bailey by a waist-height picket fence, and so I was happy to let Rosamund run free once we’d walked through the fence’s gateway.

I kept an eye on Rosamund, making sure she disturbed none of the plants, but mostly I let her be as I strolled along the garden paths. The scent from the flowers and the pungent leaves of the herbs, the gentle hum of the bees, the sun on my face … I breathed in deeply, closing my eyes briefly as I relaxed.

When I opened them again I saw that a man approached from a door in the chapel; the castle priest, from his robes and tonsure.

‘You must be Mistress Maeb Langtofte,’ he said as he came to a halt before me. He had a pleasant face, well featured, with a strong nose, warm brown eyes and a fringe of dark hair that flopped over his brow. He was only some five or six years older than me.

‘You know me?’ I said, surprised.

‘Who else could you be?’ the priest said, then inclined his head. ‘I am Brother Owain.’ He nodded at the chapel. ‘And there my realm. I knew you because I know all of the countess’ women … save for her new attending woman. Thus, you must be she.’

‘I am indeed,’ I said. I indicated the garden. ‘Should I not be here, Brother Owain? I could not resist. Both Rosamund and myself needed the sun on our faces, and the fresh air. I thought …’

‘You are most welcome to the garden,’ Owain said. ‘Its purpose is to soothe the soul as much as the flesh. But keep Rosamund away from that far corner. It harbours dark plants I use in my herbals, and if she were to eat them, then it would not go well for her.’

I nodded, glancing about to make sure Rosamund was nowhere near the dangerous herbs. She was wandering through the garden close to the chapel, studying various flower heads in childish wonder, and I relaxed.

‘How do you find Pengraic, mistress?’ Owain said.

For a moment I thought he meant the earl, then realised he talked of the castle.

‘I find it very formidable,’ I said. ‘I feel a little lost.’

‘It is overwhelming when first you enter it,’ Owain said. ‘Initially you only see its towering walls, and the great slabs of stone. But after a while …’

‘Yes?’

‘After a while you begin to see its loveliness, too.’

I looked about, wondering that I should ever find these defences ‘lovely’.

I must have been frowning for Owain gave a little laugh. ‘You have been here but days, and I wager you have seen little of the castle save the great keep. I have lived here most of my life, and to me this castle is a world all to itself.’

‘Most of your life?’ I said, curious.

‘Aye,’ Owain said. ‘I was born in Crickhoel — that is the village you passed by to reach the castle — and apart from the years I spent learning my craft in the priory in Glowecestre, I have lived either in the village or this castle all the years of my life.’

‘You are Welsh?’ I said.

‘Indeed, mistress.’

I did not know how to phrase this next question, so I chose vagueness. ‘And yet you are happy here?’

‘Here? In this castle? In this Norman castle?’ Owain chuckled. ‘Yes, I am. This place … it holds much history among my people. It is a sacred spot. We tell myths that come from the people who were here before the Welsh; we have a strong attachment to the past. It is no wonder that Pengraic’s ancestor built his castle here, meaning to impose himself on the Welsh — he had to intimidate both the legends and the Welsh. And to answer your next question, for I see it on your face, yes, my loyalty is to the earl, and to Lord Stephen.’

I opened my mouth to ask another question, wondering that Owain mentioned, as had Stephen, the ancient peoples and the sacredness of this spot, but just at that moment we heard footsteps approaching.

It was Stephen — which fact gave me a warm glow — and another knight. I did not know the other man, but he strode with as much authority as Stephen, and carried about him almost as grand an air of nobility.

‘Owain!’ Stephen said. ‘And Mistress Maeb, guarding my youngest sister. Maeb, you have not met Ralph yet, have you? Then may I present Ralph d’Avranches, the garrison commander at Pengraic.’

I remembered his name from the conversation I’d heard in the solar at Rosseley. D’Avranches was from a distinguished and noble Norman family, and was renowned for his military skill.

‘My lord,’ I said, dipping in courtesy.

‘Mistress,’ d’Avranches said, with the minimum of politeness. He was singularly uninterested in either myself or Owain, and turned immediately back to Stephen, with whom I imagined he had been deep in conversation before Stephen detoured into the garden. ‘If I have your leave, my lord.’

‘By all means,’ Stephen said, and, with a half bow to Stephen, d’Avranches turned on his heel and was gone, his booted feet crunching along the gravel path.

‘I am glad to see you about,’ Stephen said to me. ‘I am sorry I have not attended my mother as I should, but …’ he shrugged. ‘Garrison matters always seem to crowd round me, demanding my attention. How does she keep, Maeb?’

‘She is well enough,’ I said. ‘She has regained some colour, and eats better now she is not constantly travelling. She has a little cough from the dampness of the stone, or perhaps a lingering chill caught while travelling, but otherwise she is much improved.’

‘I am relieved I managed to escort her home safe,’ Stephen said. ‘I worried for her, and the child. There is not yet sign of its birth?’

‘My lady thinks a little while yet, my lord,’ I said.

Stephen nodded, then grinned at Owain. ‘No doubt such tedious household gossip bores you, my friend.’

‘Indeed not, my lord,’ Owain said. He looked to me. ‘I did not know my lady has been unwell. Would you ask her if she would like me to attend on her?’

‘Owain is skilled with herbals,’ Stephen said, ‘and I should have thought to have asked you to visit her before now, Owain. I will attend her this very afternoon, and speak to her of you.’

Owain gave a small bow. ‘I was about to show Mistress Maeb the chapel, my lord. Will you accompany us?’

I was not sure I should be seen with Stephen at all, for I still heeded the countess’ and Evelyn’s warnings. But no one from my lady’s chambers could see us here, and the chapel would be private. No harm could come of it, surely.

Stephen made a movement as if he were about to offer me his arm, then thought better of it. ‘I would be glad of it,’ he said, ‘for the chapel always gives me great peace.’

I collected Rosamund, who had by now picked enough flowers to wind into a chain about her head, and together with Stephen and Owain we entered the southern door of the chapel.

The chapel was dim, lit only by a score of candles and the light from the imposing eastern window (which I took a moment to marvel at, for I had never seen the like). My eyes adjusted slowly to the light and by then Rosamund was squirming in my arms, trying to get down.

I looked to Owain for permission.

‘Let her run free,’ he said. ‘I have no objection.’

I set her down with a small sigh of relief and a few words of stern warning not to touch the candles.

She wandered off, happily intrigued by the intricately carved sandalled feet of the nearby stone statue of a saint, and I turned to look more fully about the chapel.

Apart from its size — this was the largest chapel I had ever entered — it was as all chapels in which I had worshipped, save that it was far more richly appointed and that the wall paintings were somehow different. I frowned at them, not immediately able to see how they differed from all others I had seen, then …

‘Oh,’ I said, and both Owain and Stephen laughed.

‘Come,’ said Owain, ‘walk a little closer. This panel here is among my favourites. What do you make of it?’

All churches and chapels had their walls painted with various scenes from the Bible as well as from the martyrdom of saints and scenes of the last judgment. But here the paintings were markedly different. While they showed scenes from the Bible and of saints’ martyrdoms, all these scenes were set within magnificent forests.

The chapel walls were alive with trees. Branches dipped this way and that, and saints, apostles and martyrs danced in and out of clearings and veils of leaves.

Even the figures of the people depicted within were different. All the people were tall and willowy, and had a sense of the otherworldly about them.

‘I have never seen anything like it!’ I said. ‘It is very … unusual.’

In truth, I found the heavily wooded nature of the walls somewhat unsettling. It made the chapel darker than otherwise it might have been, and, sweet Jesu, I wondered if I looked hard enough would I see any wood dryads or fairies peeking out from the crowns of the trees.

‘The chapel was painted many years ago,’ Stephen said, walking over and softly laying the fingertips of one hand against a depiction of a gnarled tree trunk. ‘I believe my ancestor made good use of the craftsmen in Crickhoel. I saw you looking at the figures, Maeb. They are said to be of the Old People who I mentioned to you, those who were here before the Welsh came. They are long gone now.’

‘To the Old People this was a sacred spot,’ Owain said. ‘On some festivity days the villagers of Crickhoel ask the earl if they can come and worship in this chapel. They like to lay flowers on the heartstone. The earl never refuses.’

I studied the paintings further. ‘Why are there wolves running among the people?’

‘Again,’ Owain said, ‘these walls depict ancient myths as well as Christian tales. It is said the wolves are the protectors of this land, and of the ancient peoples, and of those who today still bear their bloodlines.’

‘My mother wants these forests and people and wolves painted over,’ Stephen said, turning to me and smiling, ‘but my father has for the moment resisted her. It would be a shame to lose them, for I enjoy knowing I have a forest so close whenever I need its solace.’

‘But these painting are very … pagan,’ I said. ‘Do they not worry you, Owain, plastered as they are about a chapel dedicated to our Lord Christ Saviour?’

‘No,’ Owain said. ‘If anything, they give me comfort. I like to think that the Old People are still here, watching over us.’

That was very un-Christian of him, I thought. Perhaps Owain was as much, or more, a man of these mountains and their past than he was Lord Christ’s man?

‘Maeb,’ Stephen said, ‘have you seen this? This is the stone of which Owain just spoke.’

He led us toward an immense stone set in the very heart of the nave. It was five or six times the size of the other floor slabs, and irregularly shaped.

It was very smooth, worn smooth over the centuries by the passage of thousands of feet.

‘This stone was here before the chapel was built,’ Stephen said. ‘It was set into the space atop this hill, perhaps by the Old People. We call it the heartstone: heart of the chapel, heart of the castle, heart of the hill, and heart to many of the Welsh who live here.’

‘But this is a Christian chapel,’ I said, more than a little aghast.

‘This was hallowed ground long, long before Jesus Christ set foot here,’ said Stephen, ‘and I doubt he ever minded much that the place was already warmed and sacred by the time he arrived.’

I am afraid that my mouth hung open a little as I stared at Stephen.

He saw, and laughed softly. ‘Come now, Maeb. There are such sacred sites all over the country. Surely you noted the Long Toms we passed on our journey here.’

The Long Toms. The ancient crosses that stood at crossroads and which had been there long before Christianity set its hand on this land. We had indeed passed many on our way here. There had always been one standing outside Witenie, too, and the local villagers laid flowers at its base during the mid-summer festivals.

Yet, still … I wondered that the chapel had been built right over a spot that was so anciently sacred.

‘Maeb,’ Owain said, ‘Lord Christ is a generous and loving lord. He does not mind sharing his home, and he does not mind that sometimes he shares our love. So long as we live our lives with good in our hearts and in our actions, then he asks no more.’

I nodded, feeling a little more at ease. I liked Owain, despite his penchant for the old ways, and in that he was, truly, no different than most village priests.

Owain gave me a small smile. ‘I hope you will be happy here. Remember that if ever your soul needs a little comfort, then you can find me in the chapel, or the herb garden. Or in my little dispensary which is on the other side of the chapel. You should explore the castle more, mistress. Perhaps Lord Stephen … in a quiet moment … might like to show you its beauties? More of its surprises?’

Stephen looked a little oddly at Owain at that suggestion, and I was mortified, for I thought him irritated by Owain’s presumption.

‘I am sure Lord Stephen has many more important things to occupy his day,’ I said.

‘In a quiet moment, perhaps,’ Owain said again.

‘A quiet moment it shall be,’ Stephen said. ‘Maeb, you should look to my sister, for she is halfway up the rood screen.’

I muttered to myself, cross that I had forgot all about Rosamund, and hurried to rescue her, while Stephen murmured a farewell to Owain and left the chapel.