The Devil’s Diadem by Sara Douglass

He could see his damned diadem vanishing before his eyes.

Good.

‘I want to go home to Pengraic,’ I said, ‘and so I shall.’

‘Have you no idea what will follow you?’ he hissed.

The plague? I raised my eyebrows at him. ‘Then I shall save London, shall I not?’

He hissed again, then whipped about and struck a goblet so viciously it flew from its platter halfway across the room.

Even in their shadows I could see Gytha and Isouda jump. ‘I have said everything I have to say to you, husband,’ I said. ‘Please see to the arrangements, or at least allow Ghent to make them in your name.’

‘I asked you once to trust me,’ he said. ‘Now I ask it again.’

I was so furious I almost rose to strike him. He dared ask me to trust him? After what he had revealed?

After what he had hidden from me all this time? ‘And I have given you my answer,’ I said. ‘Now, will you aid your wife to return to her home, or shall I be forced to beg charity from Bretagne?’

He glared at me, then turned on his heel and stalked from the chamber.

I let out a soft breath of relief, both that he had gone, and that he had not struck me.

Pengraic. I would go home. I would have time and space there to think and reflect, to talk with Owain, and to birth this baby.

My husband allowed me to go. He had no choice, really, for to demand I stay in London when the plague approached and when I wanted to leave would have seemed … odd. Likewise I could not speak out to anyone of his true nature, because then the charges of witchcraft and murder would rise again as sure as the sun rises each morn.

He left all the arrangements in Ghent’s hands along with a goodly purse of coin to pay for what was needed. Poor Ghent. He was confused by the sudden iciness between the earl and myself. He did not like it, but he said nothing. All he did was his best, as he always did, and that best was more than good enough.

We left London four days later.

Chapter Three

We travelled in as small a company as possible. It was still deep winter over the south and middle of England and, with the spring crops a long way distant (and a bad harvest the previous year because of the plague), many places might find it impossible to offer food for a large group. What we ate might well mean hunger for someone else. Thus, together with myself and my three women (Ella was also happy to leave London) and Ghent, there were just nine horsed soldiers, and two grooms. We did not travel with any of the Pengraic household plate and linens that normally accompanied a countess or earl to and fro their abodes, but only our clothes and some warm covers. Pengraic had plate and linen enough for my needs, I did not require the gold and silver and pewter.

My husband the earl could keep it for his daily needs.

I travelled in a cart together with Gytha. I was too big with child now to ride safely, although I did insist Dulcette came with us. Tied to the back of the cart with a loose rope, Dulcette ambled contentedly along, no doubt happy to undertake a journey free of rider and harness.

Ghent and I had plotted out a journey that would take us to the north of the usual route to Pengraic. We wanted to avoid the plague areas. If, as the Templars had proposed, the plague always travelled in a narrow strip following my footsteps, then I could be confident that if we strayed only a short distance north we could avoid the plague completely. Ghent was less sure — he had not heard what Master Hugh had said — but I tried to reassure him as much as possible that the northerly route would be safe for us.

I was torn over this decision though. Although I had survived the plague once, and would be unlikely to catch it again, as countess I had a responsibility to those who travelled with me. I should not risk exposing my women, none of whom had been in contact with the plague, nor the soldiers and grooms who travelled with us. But in doing this, and if Master Hugh was correct in supposing the plague followed me, I would be exposing villages, towns and communities which otherwise would have remained pestilence free to the horrors of the disease.

Whatever I did would see innocent people die. Even if I had stayed in London, then that city of tens of thousands would be ravaged, whereas now I hoped it would escape.

I did not sleep well at night.

On the day we left, my husband came to farewell us in the inner bailey of the Tower. He spoke for a good while with Ghent, then stood to one side, silent, as my women and I either climbed into the cart or mounted our horses.

Only once we were all set, and Ghent about to wave us forward, did he come over to my cart.

‘Travel safely, wife,’ he said.

I gave a nod.

‘Send word once you reach Pengraic.’

I gave another nod.

‘For God’s sakes, Maeb …’

‘I wish you good luck in your quest,’ I said. ‘It will be quite the relief to me once it is all done.’

And you returned to hell.

My husband’s face tightened. ‘You have no idea of what you speak,’ he said.

‘If I still have no idea then it because you have spun yet more lies to me.’

Everyone in our column was now completely silent, the earl’s and my words ricocheting about the inner bailey.

My husband stepped back. ‘Journey well, Ghent. Keep my wife safe.’ Then he was striding back inside the building which housed our chambers, not waiting to see us gone.

I was close to tears, not only because the depth of ill-feeling between my husband and I was unsettling, but because everyone had heard that ill exchange. Poor Ghent, his back was as stiff and as straight as if he was tied to a lance.

As we rumbled out of the outer bailey, I turned on my cushions and looked behind me.

The Conqueror’s Tower rose grim and silent in the early morning, dusted with snow, the skies low and grey above.

My eyes filled with tears, and I turned my face forward, looking to the journey ahead.

We travelled as fast as the icy roads and winter conditions would allow. Our first day’s travel was on roads well kept because of their proximity to London, and we made Sancti Albani by nightfall, where we were welcomed by the abbot of the church and fed and housed comfortably. It had been a long day, and I slept solidly despite my worries, and we did not start the next day until well into the morning.

From Sancti Albani we turned north-west to follow a route that would take us a comfortable distance north of the plague-affected towns. In two days we reached Elesberie, where so recently Queen Adelaide had died. Here we stayed at the royal manor, almost ghost-like now that Edmond had departed with his wife’s corpse for the journey to Hereford cathedral. He was ten days or more ahead of us.

Ghent thought we should try to catch up as we would be travelling for much of the way along the same route. Edmond would be travelling slowly as he had half of his court and household with him, and because his was a mourning procession.

I did not wish to catch up with Edmond. To Ghent I argued that it would mean speedy and risky travelling along icy roads in bad weather for us to make up those ten days, and I did not wish it, nor did I wish to suddenly find myself among the court again when I was so great with child. Privately I simply did not want to see Edmond. I was certain that he would know almost instantly that something was badly wrong, and his sympathy and charm (and his sheer dogged persistence) might well worm it out of me.

I did not want Edmond to think badly of me or risk him withdrawing his support when I needed it so badly. Because of me his eldest son, his heir, had been humiliated in front of the entire court and had subsequently vanished.

No. I could not risk losing Edmond’s support.

We would not catch up to his procession.

To make certain, we stayed in Elesberie some three days, during which Ghent’s impatience grew at the same rate his temper heated. He wanted badly to get me to Pengraic as quickly as he might — the last thing Ghent wished was for me to go into labour in the cart.