Judith backed. Her thighs struck the chest and pressed there. She was cornered, no retreat, and he was going to do all the things to her that Maurice de Montgomery had once done to her mother. She thought of Rhosyn and Rhys and Eluned, of what had happened to them. She thought of Guyon sprawled sightless in the ward, for surely de Lacey would not be gloating here otherwise and, as he reached for her, her eyes flashed and her chin came up.
Guyon ran, not feeling the weight of his mail or weapons, only filled with a dreadful sense of foreboding. A Fleming, intent on pill age, barred his way and Guyon cut him down like swatting a fly. The maids were screaming and cowering. The wounded who had been unable to run away were all dead. A Welshman was swigging raw wine straight from the flagon. He was still clutching it to his chest when Guyon ran him through. Blood and wine soaked into the rushes. Guyon seized Helgund's arms. 'Where's your mistress?' he demanded.
'She went ... solar ... fetch more bandages!'
Helgund gulped through a mask of tears and terror as around her men skirmished, chasing each other over and around trestles, hacking and slashing, killing or being killed.
Guyon released her arm and ran the length of the hall . Prys was sprawled across the solar entrance. He stooped and turned him over, but the life had flown and Prys was as limp as a rag.
Guyon's blood froze. Standing straight, he parted the curtain and made himself enter the solar.
A shaft of sunlight slanted across the room to the wall above the prie-dieu and illuminated a splash of blood and a beadwork of sprayed drops above it. He followed the pattern up and then down to where it disappeared into the deep corner shadows beside the open linen chest, the napery it contained spilling untidily over the edge and embroidered erratically with great scarlet flowers of blood. Hesitantly he trod in the wake of his gaze until he was looking down on the body of Walter de Lacey and beneath it, the russet homespun of Judith's oldest working gown.
If his blood had run cold before, now he felt it congeal, and for a moment he was unable to move. A wet, cold nose nudged at his hand and Cadi whined. Her tail swished against his chausses and he broke eye contact with what he dreaded to face to look at the dog. She sniffed at de Lacey's hauberk and growled.
The power of movement returned to Guyon's limbs, although they seemed to belong to a total stranger. He stooped and, grasping de Lacey's shoulder, rolled him over and to one side. There was a jagged tear in his throat and his eyes were fixed in a baleful stare.
Judith was drenched in blood, but how much was her own he had no idea. Her face was unsmirched except for one small streak that only served to emphasise her pall or. Her eyes were closed and for a heart-stopping moment he did not know if she was dead or alive.
'Judith?' he said softly and, kneeling, lifted her and braced her weight against his shoulders.
'Judith?' He patted her face and she flopped against him like a child's cloth doll . Frightened, he hit her harder and then, by pure reflexive instinct, shot out his arm and grabbed her wrist before she could do to him with the knife what she had just done to Walter de Lacey.
'Guy?' Her eyes cleared. She looked at him and then at the knife and let it drop before turning into his arms with a shuddering sob.
'Judith, are you hurt, love? I cannot tell for all this blood.'
'Hurt? ... No ... It is all his. He did not know I had the knife until I struck - it was hidden under these bandages ... I thought when I saw him that you must be dead ...' Her breath caught in her throat and Guyon smoothed her hair and kissed her.
She kissed him fervently in return, then pushed him away to look at him. 'You talk of my hurt, as if your own were of no consequence!' she gasped, pointing to a bloody rent in his mail.
'It's nothing,' he answered, not entirely telling the truth. 'I've taken worse in practice. And it doesn't matter now. It is all over.'
His tone was so weary that she panicked. 'What do you mean? Surely with de Lacey dead, the Welsh will be willing to talk ransom?'
'That is what I am hoping, although at the best of times they can be contrary bastards and I'm in no state to negotiate myself.' His eyes flickered to the doorway.
Judith stared at Miles in open-mouthed astonishment as he stepped over the corpse on the threshold and entered the chamber. 'I thought you did not have the time to send for succour,' she said to Guyon in utter bewilderment.
'I didn't, love.' Guyon released her to wipe his sword on de Lacey's leggings, then wished he had not, for as he bent, his vision fluctuated and he felt as if he were on the deck of a ship in the midst of a storm. He straightened slowly and, with great care, sheathed the blade. 'It was sheer good fortune, or the will of God ...' He looked at his father. 'If you had not come when you did ...'
'The will of the King, you mean,' Miles said wryly as Guyon fumbled to remove his helm. 'And as it happens, this situation could not have profited him better.'
Guyon looked blankly at his father. 'Forgive me. I've fought my way to the gates of hell and back. I can't think.'
Miles went out into the hall , returning with a jug of wine that had miraculously survived the onslaught. 'Henry wants me to negotiate with the Welsh. Well , thanks to you and Walter de Lacey, I've a nice fat collection of caged birds to lure Cadwgan to the table ... including his own son.'
'Cadwgan's son?' Guyon gulped the wine straight from the flagon, spilling more down his mail than he actually got into his mouth. 'You mean that idiot with the jewelled sword and no notion of how to use it is Cadwgan's son?'
Miles grinned wolfishly. 'The very same. Do you think that his father values him above his loyalty to Robert de Belleme?'
Guyon shook his head in wonder. His gaze moved to the sprawled corpse of Walter de Lacey and a tremor ran through his body. He put the wine down. 'It is a pity he is dead,' he muttered. 'I would have borrowed one of de Belleme's greased stakes and let him dance on it awhile. He escaped too cleanly.' He rubbed his hand over his face and swore as his palm opened up a cut and it began to bleed again.
Concerned, still trembling herself with shock, Judith rose and went to him.
He stroked her cheek. 'Don't fret, love,' he said.
'The shoring up of Thornford will take some little while to accomplish this time. I won't be going to Bridgnorth just yet, so you can stop scheming how you're going to disguise the white poppy this time.' He tugged her braid, smiled at her and slowly slipped down the chest to the floor.
CHAPTER 31
ASHDYKE AUTUMN 1102
Below Ashdyke Crag, between it and the River Wye, the common grazing land was illuminated by a huge bonfire around which the people from the surrounding villages clustered and capered.
The water glittered with gemstones of firelit colour, the sharp autumnal breeze skimming the jet surface with creases and pockets of ruffled gold.
Judith looked down on the scene from an arrowslit in the small wall chamber overlooking the river, and smiled as she replaced the hide screen. There was so much to celebrate that it was hard to believe that less than a season since they had been caught up in the violent ugliness of death and war.
She turned away and picked up her new, marten-lined cloak. Helgund was moving quietly about the chamber, tidying and setting to rights.
The night candle softly illuminated the faces of the two sleeping children. The King had given Guyon the wardship of Adam de Lacey and thus the infant and his inheritance were Guyon's responsibility until Adam should reach manhood.
Guyon had baulked at first, but Judith had managed to persuade him otherwise. The boy was not responsible for the crimes of his sire and in the years that they had him they could mould him to their own pattern and codes. Guyon had consented, because at the time he did not have the strength to argue with her and she had taken shameless advantage of his weakness to install the child in their household. Adam was still slow to smile and solemn, but he had gained in flesh and confidence and followed Heulwen everywhere that she would tolerate him.