The Devil’s Diadem by Sara Douglass

‘What is happening?’ I said to him.

‘A Welsh column,’ he said. ‘Some hundred men, heavily armed, Madog at their head.’

‘How did they get this far?’ I said. ‘There are castles, men, further down the valley, are there not?’

‘Only one small fort,’ Owain said, ‘and that poorly manned as the earl has brought most of the men back here to help replace those lost to the plague. They would have watched Madog ride past and not attempted to prevent his passage. No wonder Madog feels he can ride this far with such impunity.’

‘What is he doing here? Is he laying siege?’

Owain shrugged.

I looked up. Raife stood with d’Avranches and several other knights at the top of the northern gate tower. They were looking to the east, down the road which doglegged its way up the slope to the castle.

Sweet Jesu, was the Welsh prince already at the gates? I wondered if the outer bailey was a safe place to stay.

Pengraic was now engaged in conversation with d’Avranches and the knights. He gestured emphatically, making his point, and d’Avranches and the others nodded, several times.

Then d’Avranches and the knights clattered down the steps to the outer bailey, calling for their horses, as well as for several other knights to join them.

Owain wandered over. I hesitated, then followed him.

‘What is happening?’ I asked d’Avranches as he belted on weapons with sharp, hard movements.

He spared me a single glance. ‘Madog has approached under the flag of truce. I am leading a party out to see how honestly he means that flag.’

‘Many say Madog is an honourable man,’ Owain said mildly, and d’Avranches spared him a longer, harder glance.

‘With a sharp sword and a penchant for revenge,’ d’Avranches said, fastening his helmet. Then he turned, shouting for his knights to mount and grabbing the reins of his own horse.

I stood back hastily as they booted their horses toward the main gate. Guards opened the wicket gate for them, then slammed and bolted it as soon as the last rider was through.

Again hesitating, then reminding myself I was the countess, I walked over to the wicket gate, which had a small eye-level window in it.

‘Is it safe to see?’ I asked one of the guards.

He nodded, opening the little door that covered the barred window, and I stepped close.

The Welsh had halted just where the road to the castle doglegged before turning into the final straight stretch to the main gates. They were well ordered, armoured and weaponed in maille and helmets, shields, and carrying either spears or lances as well as their swords. All wore red tunics under their maille. At their head sat one man on a horse, holding the flagstaff, a white flag fluttering at its head.

Next to him sat another rider.

His entire bearing, his armour, his accoutrements, spoke of his authority.

Madog ap Gruffydd, Prince of the Welsh.

I felt Owain at my shoulder, and I stepped aside so he could see.

‘It is Madog,’ he said, somewhat unnecessarily, ‘and his Teulu.’

‘Teulu?’

‘His personal bodyguard,’ Owain said. ‘He can also call on men from lands under his rule to serve in his army when and if he needs it, but his Teulu stay with him always.’

‘Could he not have come to surrender?’ I asked. ‘The white flag …’

‘He has no reason to surrender,’ Owain said. ‘This is more like the flag of truce. Gruffydd wants to talk and that is why d’Avranches has gone. To find out what he wants.’

‘Isn’t that dangerous?’

‘Yes.’ Owain stepped back, letting me see again.

D’Avranches and his party had reached the Welsh, halting some six or seven paces away from Madog.

‘He is so vulnerable,’ I murmured.

‘If the Welsh attacked,’ Owain said, ‘yes. But the Welsh themselves are within arrow strike of the castle and you can be sure your husband has several score of arrows trained on them right now. If the Welsh attacked d’Avranches and his men, they would not escape unscathed. But I do not think they mean to attack.’

Every so often, as the wind blew our way, I could hear snatches of voices, if not distinct words. Eventually d’Avranches looked up to where Raife stood atop the walls, and made a gesture. He waited, obviously for some response from Raife, then looked back to Madog, giving a single nod.

Madog pulled his horse to one side, and d’Avranches and his party rode forward, being absorbed into the Welsh ranks.

I stepped back to let Owain have a view. ‘What is happening?’ I said. ‘Madog wants to talk,’ Owain said. ‘D’Avranches and his men stay as hostages for Madog’s safe return. The Welsh are returning down the road — they’ll wait at the foot of the mountain. Stand back now, my lady. Madog approaches.’

I retreated hastily, just as the guards opened the wicket gate.

Madog clattered through.

He turned his head to look at me almost immediately — I was closer to him than any save Owain — and I suddenly realised that I must look like a wild wood maid, with my hair loose and tangled about me.

I could not see his face, for he wore a helmet much like those in Norman fashion and it obscured most of his face, but otherwise he had an exotic feel about him — his tunic was a rich, deep red like that of his men, and the designs on it and on his shield — hung behind his saddle — were unfamiliar.

Then he was past me, and halted before my husband, who had come down from the parapets.

Madog dismounted, and he spoke with Pengraic quietly. The men came to some agreement, each nodding, and they turned for the great keep, Madog unbuckling his helmet and taking it off as they did so.

Again I hesitated, not knowing what I should do, but Raife turned, made an impatient gesture to me, and thus I hurried after them.

They strode through the central courtyard of the great keep and up the stairwell into the solar. I had to hurry to keep up with them, and by the time I stepped into the solar I was breathing deeply, wishing that I could have had but a few moments of time alone in which to tidy my hair.

Madog dropped his helmet on the top of a bench, making a loud, startling clattering sound in the solar. He turned slowly, taking in his surroundings, eventually coming face to face with me.

I was shocked by his commanding presence. I had always thought of Madog as a savage, a rebel lurking amid the wild, misty hills of Wales, and this darkly handsome clean-shaven man, elegant and assured, was not what I had expected at all. His black hair was very short, close-cropped to his skull, and it accentuated the strong bones of his face and the darkness of his eyes.

He must have been surprised by me. Both the richness of my kirtle and my presence in the solar with them indicated high status.

My wild tangled hair — well, sweet Christ alone knew what he made of that.

I had an urge to dip in courtesy, but forced myself to restraint. ‘My lady,’ Madog said, his voice holding the faintest note of question, as he stepped forward to take one hand to kiss it.

‘My wife, Maeb,’ Pengraic said.

Madog did not let go of my hand. His eyes were warm, very dark, glittering with something I thought may have been amusement. ‘This lovely countess is not the one I remember,’ he said.

I had thought he would have a coarse accent, but his voice, like his appearance, was well modulated and sweet, and he spoke courtly French well, with no hint of difficulty.

‘Adelie died in the plague,’ Raife said.

‘And took her comb with her,’ Madog murmured to me, low enough that Raife, standing by the hearth, would not have heard.

‘A tragic loss,’ Madog said, in a louder voice, dropping my hand and walking over to Raife. ‘But I hear loss was extreme at this castle. Your children?’

‘Dead,’ Raife said. ‘What do you want?’

‘Not even wine with which to smooth our reacquaintance?’ Madog said.

I moved to the table, where stood a pitcher of spiced wine and wine cups, serving both my husband and Madog. Then I moved away, walking briefly into the privy chamber to fetch my comb before returning to the solar, sitting on a chair slightly distanced from those about the hearth, and combing out my hair as I listened to the men talking, watching to see if they needed more wine.

There were few pleasantries exchanged. They talked about the plague, Madog pressing Raife for information about how badly the plague had struck the castle, Raife just as assiduously avoiding giving him any information.

‘But it must have been bad,’ Madog said, ‘if its toll including the tragic loss of your wife and children.’