Castle of Dreams (20 page)

Branwen met them at the cave entrance.

“There was an accident,” Meredith explained.
“This is Thomas of Afoncaer.”

“Norman.” Branwen’s angry dark eyes pierced
Meredith through and through before she looked at the boy, noting
every detail of his appearance.

“He rescued me,” Meredith told her, and saw
her aunt’s expression soften before she moved aside to let them
enter the cave.

“He’s hurt,” Branwen said. “Come in,
boy.”

Thomas’s eyes widened when Rhys appeared from
the inner cave, his grey robe flowing about him, and Meredith
remembered her own first sight of the old man. The white cat
followed close at Rhys’s heels. Meredith heard Thomas catch his
breath when he saw the animal.

“Are you a wizard?” Thomas asked.

“I am a healer, young man. Sit here and let
Meredith tend to your wounds. You have been in a battle, I
see.”

While Meredith cleaned and dressed Thomas’s
injuries and then let Branwen soothe her arm with a salve made from
mint leaves, the best remedy for dog bite, Rhys drew from Thomas
the details of their adventure.

“You acted bravely,” Rhys said, “but you
should not come into the forest alone. It’s not safe for a Norman
lord.”

“I’m not a lord, I’m only a page,” Thomas
pointed out. “And I didn’t come alone, Clovis followed me.” He
stuck out his hand toward the cat, who sniffed his fingers and then
rubbed its head against Thomas’s hand until the boy scratched
behind its ears.

“The cat’s name is Gwyn,” Rhys said, smiling.
“In my native tongue it means ‘white.’ She doesn’t let just anyone
pet her. You are special, young man.”

Thomas sat in silence, stroking Gwyn’s milky
fur.

“I don’t like it at the castle,” Thomas said
after a while. “I love my Uncle Guy, and my mother is so beautiful
I want to look at her all the time, but they are both busy and I
miss my friends at court. There are no other pages at Afoncaer, no
one my age at all.”

No wonder he appeared to be so grown-up and
yet so childish at the same time, Meredith thought. She understood
how he felt. She too had lacked friends of her own age, and had
tried be an adult when she was with her elders.

“You should come back in a day or two so I
can put a fresh bandage on your knee,” Meredith said. “I used a
salve made from goose-grass on it, and it will heal with no scar,
but it must be kept very clean, and I ought to put more of the
salve on the wound later.”

His smile was blinding.

“May I really visit you again?” he asked.

“Thomas,” Rhys said, “I want you to
understand that we are not witches and that this cave is a place of
peace and safety. I will allow no violence here. You must tell no
one how to reach this place.”

“I won’t reveal a thing, not even if they
torture me. I promise, Rhys, and you must know a knight always
keeps his vows. I’m not a knight yet, but I will be some day,”
Thomas finished lamely.

“Not if you kill yourself sliding down hills
first,” Branwen observed dryly, handing over his neatly mended
stocking.

“I wasn’t sliding, I slipped and fell. Thank
you, Lady Branwen.” Thomas took the stocking and turned his back to
the women while he pulled it on and fastened it. “I suppose I
should go home now.” He did not sound very enthusiastic.

“I’ll show you the way,” Meredith
offered.

“Goodbye, Rhys. Goodbye, Lady Branwen.”
Thomas bowed to each of them and gave Gwyn one last pat on the head
before following Meredith out of the cave.

There were too many grownups in the temporary
great hall. Guy could see how uncomfortable they all made Thomas.
The boy was having a wretched time of it. Still, it was Isabel’s
place to question him and chastise him if she wished.

“Where have you been?” Isabel demanded for
the third time. She wrinkled her pretty nose at her son. “I will
have an honest answer, Thomas. You are disgracefully dirty. You do
not look like a proper page to me.”

“Disgraceful,” echoed Father Herbert,
standing at Isabel’s left elbow. “You should not come before your
mother in such a state, boy.”

Thomas glared at his mother’s chaplain with
injured pride.

“I’m sorry, Mother. I … I had a little
accident. I fell.”

“Did you?” she said, eyebrows raised. “And
who, pray tell, mended your stocking?”

“I tore it.”

“I can see that. By what magic was it
repaired?”

“Magic? No magic, Mother. I met a nice lady
who bandaged my knee and fixed my stocking.” It was obvious that
Thomas was withholding something.

Reynaud had been working at a
parchment-strewn table during this interrogation. Now he laid down
his quill, pushed back the plans for the new tower keep, and fixed
his pale blue eyes on Thomas.

“What lady?” Isabel asked.

“A Welsh lady,” Thomas replied. He began to
look distinctly frightened.

“Welsh?” spluttered Father Herbert. “We can’t
have this. You are a Norman, lad, a nobleman. Remember that and
don’t trust these barbarians.”

“She’s a nice lady.” Thomas blinked back
angry tears. “She put a salve made from goose-grass on my knee and
it stopped hurting at once and didn’t bleed any more, and then she
bandaged it.”

“Witchcraft,” muttered Father Herbert,
crossing himself. “Those people in the woods. I warned you, my
lord. Such medicine is against the law. William the Conqueror
specifically said no deviation from the true religion of Rome is to
be allowed. The woman is obviously a witch. You must do something
about this. It is your responsibility.” He drew a breath, clearly
preparing to say more on the subject, but Thomas spoke up.

“She’s not a witch! She’s not!” Thomas
declared. “She’s just a nice lady, that’s all.”

“Really, Thomas,” Isabel exclaimed, “if there
were another lady around here I would know it.”

“Stop this nonsense at once!” Guy interrupted
brusquely. “You can see the boy is not seriously harmed. Whoever it
was, some villein’s wife, perhaps, tended to his wound and sent him
home. Isn’t that it, boy?”

“Yes, Uncle Guy.”

“Just where did this happen?” Isabel
persisted.

“In the forest,” Thomas admitted
reluctantly.

“There, you see, my lord.” Father Herbert
looked triumphant. “Where in the forest, Thomas?”

“I – I don’t remember.” Thomas looked like a
trapped rabbit. He met Guy’s eyes with a pleading expression, and
Guy came to his rescue.

“That’s enough, Father Herbert. Leave the boy
alone. I expect you’d like a bath and some food, wouldn’t you,
Tom?”

Thomas nodded, unable to speak, but Guy saw
the gratitude in his eyes at the use of that grownup ‘Tom.’

“Why don’t you take care of him, Isabel?” Guy
suggested. “You are his mother,” he added pointedly.

“Very well. Come along, Thomas. I’ll tell
Agnes to prepare you a bath.”

“I’ll come, too, Lady Isabel, in just a
moment,” Father Herbert said. “I think young Thomas should rehearse
his catechism for me, just to be certain no damage has been done to
his soul. We can’t be too careful in heathen lands like this.”

“Poor lad,” Guy murmured, watching Thomas and
his mother leave through the door into the women’s quarters.

“My lord, this could be serious,” Father
Herbert said. “It’s possible those folk in the forest will try to
infect your nephew with their evil. First they’ll make friends with
him, and then…”

“For God’s sake, man, use your head. There’s
no evil involved in this. Weren’t you ever a boy?”

“Most assuredly I was, my lord, but I fail to
see…”

“Didn’t you ever go off by yourself and get
into some scrape and come home not wanting to tell the grownups
about it?”

“No, my lord, I do not think I ever did.”

“Then I pity you. Leave the boy alone.”

“But, my lord, they are witches. They are
breaking the law.”

“I have told you before, Father Herbert, and
I tell you again: we have no proof that anyone is a witch. We have
not even a hint of witchcraft, except in your imagination. The
building is going more smoothly than we ever dreamed it could. I do
not want to stir up trouble. Do you understand me?” Guy put both
his hands on the table and bent toward the priest, looking him
straight in the eye.

“Yes, my lord.” Father Herbert was not a man
to disagree for very long with a patron as generous as Sir Guy.

“Good. This incident is a boyish prank,
nothing more. Forget it.”

Father Herbert left, heading for the women’s
quarters. Guy swung back to Reynaud, who had been listening
intently to all of this. Now the builder spoke for the first
time.

“Geoffrey has used up a lot of ale and has
acquired precious little information from the local men, my lord.
The people here seem to be sheltering someone.”

“And? Out with it, Reynaud. What are you
thinking?”

“Like you, that Father Herbert is making a
great deal too much fuss over nothing. Yet I cannot help wondering
who did mend Thomas’s stocking.”

“That,” Guy said, grinning at this quiet man
he was beginning to like very much, “is something I intend to
discover as soon as possible.”

Guy watched as his nephew slipped across the
outer bailey to the wall. Thomas hid himself behind workmen
whenever possible, crouched down behind a pile of rubble to avoid
being seen by Reynaud, who was supervising construction work on the
new watchtowers by the main gate, and finally stole unnoticed
through the wide-open gateway.

“Geoffrey.” Guy put out his hand to take the
reins of the horse his squire was holding. “Stay here. I need some
exercise.” Guy swung into the saddle and rode after Thomas.

He scanned the fields, disregarding the
familiar figures of villeins attending to his crops, and then
looked toward the edge of the forest beyond the fields. His sharp
eyes caught a flicker of movement just before it was gone among the
trees. He started down the castle road, but when he reached the end
of the fields he left the road and headed into the woods. At first
he could see nothing, until he spied Thomas some distance ahead. He
walked his horse through the trees. When the underbrush became too
thick to ride he dismounted, tied the animal to a tree and went on
foot. His master of the hounds had told him exactly where Thomas
had tied and left the cur Clovis, and Guy could see his nephew was
heading in that direction. He moved faster, his eyes on Thomas
rather than watching his footing, so he nearly went over the edge
of the ravine where Thomas had fallen the day before. He could see
the damaged bushes and the pile of underbrush at the bottom. He
whistled softly, seeing how steep the hillside was.

“Lucky you didn’t break both your legs, Tom,
my lad,” he said aloud.

He saw Thomas again, walking lightly through
the brush, apparently unaware he was being followed. Guy picked his
way down the hill, slowly and carefully, at a safe angle. By the
time he reached the bottom, Thomas was out of sight. Guy set off in
the direction where he had last seen the boy.

Meredith had not really expected to see him
again, thinking that after his accident he would be made to stay at
the castle and not be allowed to go wandering about the forest
alone, but there Thomas was the next afternoon, making his way
through the bushes that obscured the entrance to the cave.

“Lady Meredith, my knee is better, but I
thought you should look at it again, just to be sure. Is Rhys
here?” Thomas looked over her shoulder into the cave. He laughed as
Gwyn left her spot by the fire and ran to receive his caress along
her silky white back.

“Rhys and Branwen have gone to visit a man
too sick to come to us. They will return soon.” Meredith did not
add that she thought Rhys should have stayed at the cave. He’d had
the pain around his heart again last night, and she was worried
about him.

“Will you see to my knee now?” Thomas was
looking at her strangely and she realized she had been lost in her
concern over Rhys. She smiled brightly, bringing her thoughts back
to the slender child who stood before her.

“Of course. Sit there.” While she tended his
knee, Thomas looked around, stroking Gwyn, who sat contentedly by
his side.

“I like this place,” Thomas said. “It feels
safe. Do you ever go in there?” He nodded toward the darkness of
the inner chamber.

“Sometimes.” She finished tying the fresh
bandage and sat back.

“Is it very big?” His eyes were still on the
blackness over her shoulder.

“Huge.”

“Could a person get lost in it?”

“If you don’t know your way.”

“Are you a heathen?”

“What?”

“Are you a witch?”

“Rhys told you yesterday, we are
healers.”

“Father Herbert says you are all witches and
that you are breaking Norman laws.”

Meredith stood, hands on hips, too angry to
be frightened yet by the implication of his words.

“Thomas, you swore you would not tell where
we are. You have broken your word. Norman knight! Liar! Branwen was
right, I should never have brought you here. You betrayed us!”

Gwyn, unaccustomed to angry voices, leapt
from Thomas’s side toward the inner chamber, her tiny white body
poised for further flight.

“No,” Thomas cried, “Truly, I haven’t
betrayed you. My mother noticed my stocking was mended and I tried
to make them think you were some villein’s wife. I didn’t tell, I
didn’t.”

“I trusted you!”

“The boy is telling the truth.” At the sound
of that quiet voice, Meredith whirled and gasped.

Guy of Afoncaer seemed to fill the whole cave
with his lordly presence. He was unarmored, but his sword hung at
his side and a small hunting dagger was thrust through his belt.
His short tunic matched his deep blue eyes, eyes that widened in
virile appreciation as he took in every detail of Meredith’s face
and figure. Meredith felt dizzy under that scrutiny. She knew she
was blushing.