The Devil’s Diadem by Sara Douglass

‘We have come far enough. No one can reach us without being spotted miles away, or without riding through a trap I have set lower down the mountain for them.’

‘What do you want with me?’ I said.

‘For God’s mercy, Madog, let me go. What have I done to you?’

‘Mevanou,’ he said.

‘My son. As a wife and son was stolen from me, so now I steal a wife and a son.’

Then he kicked his horse forward, pushing past me back to the head of the column.

Despair overcame me. He blamed me for Mevanou’s death? And that of his son? And why not! God alone knew what lies Henry had been feeding him.

Was I to be blamed for every death in England?

I wondered at the unlikely pairing of Madog and Henry. What were they about?

I wept in hopelessness and pain, hanging on grimly to the clumsy bastard of a horse I rode, trying to swallow my sobs so that the Teulu riding close by did not realise how lost in anguish I was.

Madog was going to kill me. If I had not known it before, I knew it now.

We rode until well after dawn when, finally true to his word, Madog commanded us to halt and make camp. We were in a clearing on a heavily wooded hillside, a little down from its ridge. My Teulu companion pulled me down from the horse — I literally fell into his arms, so exhausted and in so much pain I could do little else — then dragged me to sit by a camp fire being built and lit by another Teulu.

I could not have escaped had I wished to. I could barely move. I doubted I could even stand on my own. Madog could not invent any torture that would hurt me more than I hurt now. I sat by the fire, my hands shaking with weariness and distress, every breath almost too agonising to bear, when there came the sound of a horse behind me, and then the thump of a body beside me.

Gilbert Ghent! Sweet Christ Jesu, I had forgot him all this time. He must have been tied over the horse, for he was in no state to have ridden this distance. I shuffled over, touching his bruised and scabbed face, calling his name.

His eyes flickered open once, then closed almost immediately. I rested my hand on his forehead, feeling how cold and clammy it was, and prayed now that he was indeed lost in another world, for this one would be too horrifying and painful for him.

I wondered why Madog kept him alive.

A sharp pain knifed through my back, and I hoped I was not going into labour here and now. I would have no help or aid. Not from these men.

Madog and Henry ambled over, each carrying food and a skin of ale. They sat down at the fire, Madog offering me food, which I refused, and the ale, which I took.

‘We have been hearing fabulous rumours about you, Maeb,’ said Henry, his mouth half full of food.

I didn’t say anything. I was past caring.

‘It has been said,’ Henry continued, pausing to take a healthy swig of ale, ‘that you know the whereabouts of a fabled crown, gleaming with jewels more marvellous than any found in fairyland, and which even the Devil lusts after so intensely he is prepared to tear this world apart to get it. Is that so?’

I wondered who among those at Edmond’s privy meeting had been spreading tales.

‘No,’ I said. I remembered how I’d seen all the contents of the carts searched.

‘You looked through my belongings.’

‘All that fancy flummery,’ said Madog.

‘Its expense would have fed a thousand of my people for a year.’

‘And yet you want this diadem,’ I said.

‘For what? To melt down into coin to feed your thousands?’

Henry made a menacing gesture toward me, and I flinched.

He laughed and I hated him.

‘What are you doing together?’ I said.

‘What dark cause can have united you?’

Madog gave a small shrug. ‘Power, land, a castle or two that we have our eyes on. The earldom of Pengraic — at least that’s what Henry wants, I doubt I’d get my hands on it. A chance to settle old scores; you can see Henry’s burned into his cheek, and you know mine. I do not take the death of my wife lightly, Maeb.’

‘She hated you. She said you had mistresses and bastard sons a-plenty to care overmuch about her.’

‘Mevanou was my wife,’ Madog snapped. ‘She was stolen from me, cloistered in a damp dungeon and our son was left to die from neglect before Mevanou was driven to her death. You think I do not care about that? That I do not care about the dishonour? There was always going to be a price to pay for that humiliation, and you are it.’

‘If you want someone to blame for Mevanou’s death,’ I said, ‘then look no further than Henry. I am astounded to find you sharing a camp fire so companionably. Someone let Mevanou out of her chamber and chased her to, and then off, the roof of the Conqueror’s Tower in order to smear my name. No one wanted — wants — that more than Henry.’

Madog looked sideways at Henry, and I realised that their alliance was as thin and insubstantial as moonlight.

‘Henry’s cheek bears the proof that God took my part over his,’ I said.

‘And God has abandoned you now,’ said Madog, ‘if your stained, piss-stinking appearance offers any sign.’

I winced, and said nothing as Henry chuckled. I dropped my eyes to Ghent instead and laid my hand on his cheek.

He still breathed.

‘Tell us where this diadem is,’ said Henry, ‘and we’ll save his life along with yours.’

‘I do not know where it is,’ I said.

‘In Pengraic Castle?’ said Henry.

‘If we hauled your battered body before d’Avranches, do you think he’d open the gates so we could have a look?’

‘I don’t know where it is! I know nothing of it!’

Henry sprang to his feet, moving about the fire. He seized my hair, pulling my head back until I cried out with pain.

‘Why have you run from London? Eh? What have you hidden along the path?’

‘Nothing!’ I screamed.

‘Why have you run from London?’

‘Because I loathe my husband!’

Madog grunted. ‘She’s said something sensible at last.’

Henry let my hair go and I bent forward, my face in my hands, sobbing.

‘We do want this diadem,’ Madog said, his soft voice infinitely more frightening than Henry’s.

‘We think whoever owns this diadem could control … who knows how great a territory? England, at the very least. Perhaps Christendom. Imagine the power.’

I raised my face, trying to speak through my sobs. ‘Do you think that if I actually had this diadem I would not have smote you with its power by now?’ I ran a shaking hand over my body. ‘Do you think I would have allowed myself to sink to this state of disgrace if I controlled such power?’

‘She makes a good point,’ said Madog.

‘She is a cunning witch,’ said Henry, ‘as my cheek attests.’

‘Then we shall test her resolve,’ said Madog, rising and kicking dirt into the fire to extinguish it. ‘She cares for poor Ghent there. Let us see if she will save him from death.’

Henry smiled, and drew his sword.

‘No, no,’ said Madog, ‘I have a much better plan.’ He signalled one of the Teulu, and talked quietly to him in their own language for several moments. The Teulu nodded and walked away, calling to several of his comrades.

Madog came and sat back down, saying nothing for a while until two of the Teulu walked into camp dragging a stout tree trunk. As they struck away its thin branches, and as two others started digging a deep hole in the ground, Madog spoke to me in that soft, chilling voice of his.

‘See that pole. They will set it securely into the ground soon enough. Meanwhile, others of my Teulu have set meat about the camp — just scraps of it, just enough to attract the bears. Now, you tell us where that diadem is and we will allow your knight here to live. If you do not tell us, then we will tie him to that stake, strip him of his clothing and leave him for the bears. Have you ever heard the scream of a man as he is being eaten by bears? I have. It is not pleasant. Now. Where is this diadem?’

‘I don’t know! I don’t know!’

Madog shrugged. Again he signalled to his Teulu, and two came over, dragging poor Ghent toward the pole now being securely secured in the hole.

‘I don’t know!’ I screamed.