Court of Foxes (21 page)

‘Why?’ he said, as coolly. ‘Do you think of unbreeching?’

‘You know very well what I mean. In breeches or in petticoats.’

‘In breeches
or
in petticoats I’d recognise you, my shining one. Besides I knew you’d come. I knew you’d not resist her.’

‘My Lady Blanche, daughter of the Earl of Trove?’

‘Who sends her footman all the way to Caio for his potations.’

She laughed. ‘So much trouble to inform the whole world that she’d go by the high road and on such and such a day. It followed that she’d come through the forest and one day earlier; for, having found ourselves tricked, we’d be ready for her if she came later.’ She gave the reins a flap and started the pony off again. ‘There’s a small drovers’ inn by the bridge across the Towy. On man standing alone on the roof there, might command the whole cortege.’

He ambled along easily beside her. ‘One man has just done so.’

‘You mean—? You mean the coach has passed? I’ve ridden all this way for nothing?’

‘You are not very civil. Have you not met
me
?’

‘I had rather have met the Lady Blanche. But…’ She could not conceal her admiration; she herself had counted on his being here to assist her. ‘You managed it all single-handed?’

He laughed. ‘You flatter me. Not quite single-handed, no. True, I played your very trick of conducting all from the roof of the drovers’ inn; but the landlord has a pretty daughter who was not above a little scheme to help me relieve the lady — her coach once halted — of her gewgaws.’

That old, bewildering tide of jealousy welled up in her once more; and, because she was tired and hungry, perhaps, because of the shock of discovery that she came too late — somehow, absurdly, infuriatingly, the pearly morning was growing oddly grey, grey and swirly, and there was a beading of sweat along her brow and a longing only to let go, to give herself up to nothingness. But he had slipped out of the saddle — one hand gripped her shoulder, holding her upright in her own, one hard hand slapped sharply at her cheek. ‘Come, pull yourself together, my pocket highwayman, what nonsense is this? The great Madam Vixen — the fearless, the bold, the prettiest cut-throat, so they say, and the savageest, riding the roads of Wales — having the vapours all over me like any silly lady of the
ton
! Come — up I say!’

And she came to herself at once, shook the cobwebs from her mind. ‘I’ve ridden a long way, hurrying; and not breakfasted, that’s all it is.’

He looked at her doubtfully. ‘There’s food a-plenty up in my lair. Could you ride so far?’

She was alert in a moment. ‘Yes, yes, it was but a moment’s malaise. And I should dearly love to see it — Twm Shon Catti’s mountain.’

‘Gareth y Cadno’s mountain now,’ he said.

The morning was growing bright and they rode very amicably, side by side on the rough little ponies; crossed the bridge over the river and saw ahead again the stark, solitary peak at so much odds with the rounded mountains about it. Below it lay the age-old farmhouse of Ystradfin. ‘I find them most obliging. Milk, butter, cheese and bread appear upon a stone slab at the foot of the mountain each day, as though to propitiate a god.’

‘Won’t they give you away?’

‘Hardly, for the gods can take very frightening revenges. But do you tell Dio, by the way, for the moment to leave their flocks and cattle alone. I need friends just now, not foes.’

‘Is Dio to know you lie here?’

‘He knows it well enough. But I’ve told you our code. It’s for me to make the first move and not until I can no longer be a danger to them.’ They had come to the bottom of the hill and he reined in his pony. ‘From here we must climb and on foot.’

Up and up: up through the small stunted oaks clothing the lower slopes of the peak; scrambling over the outcrop of rocks above. Now below them lay the three valleys converging on their peak, the silver river half encircling it, slowly dreaming by after its wild dash down the rocky waterfalls of the valley of its origins; flowing softly to meet the Towy they had left behind. She said: ‘It’s beautiful here. No Castle of Otranto with its pine-clad heights could be more beautiful, more romantic or more — awesome…’

He had chosen a cave on the western side, sheltered from the east winds; here dead leaves made a bed and he had tumbled-in a couple of rocks to serve as a stool and an uneven sort of table. A niche near the entrance provided a cool larder for his food and he spread before her a meal, delicious in the fresh morning air. When this is over, she thought, eyeing the leafy couch within the cave, I shall pay for it all, no doubt, and in the usual coin. Oh, well! — armoured in her love, it all meant nothing to her now.

But in fact he made no offer to touch her — there was about him, she began to sense (somewhat uneasily, for such hold as she had over him might be important) — something a little different altogether. Could it possibly be that the girl at the drovers’ inn had a hand in this? To cover over her surprise — not to say some small chagrin — she launched upon an account of her adventure with the gang. ‘I’ve heard of it,’ he said. ‘And this rumour that they’ve appointed you leader — what nonsense is this?’

‘They would have it so,’ she said, off-handedly. ‘In your absence only, of course.’

‘I think you may safely count upon that,’ he said grimly.

‘And the Black Toby — did you hear of that also? How I drove him forth? — robbed him, single-handed, and forced from him a promise to remain out of our territory. You heard of it?’

‘I heard something of it, yes;
and
of the weapons you employed to achieve it.’

‘I achieved it by holding him up at pistol point from the chapel gallery.’

‘He has another version, it seems; and one that appears to entertain him greatly.’

‘He must say something, no doubt,’ she said, shrugging, ‘to account for his discomfiture at the hands of a woman.’

‘No doubt. Have any other gentlemen, may I ask, been similarly discomforted?’

‘Many others have been worsted: the mail coach, it’s true, got clear—’

‘Wounding you, one understands,’ he suggested, mockingly, ‘in your tenderest parts?’

‘If you know so much,’ she said, resentfully, ‘why do you ask?’ And she jumped to her feet and stood looking angrily down at him and actually a tear stood in her eye. ‘You’re not very grateful. I’ve worked, ridden, suffered—’

‘And all for me and my gang?’ He lay back, his slender legs outstretched before him on the sunny rock slab, feet negligently crossed. ‘All for love of us?’

‘Neither for you nor for them. I make no secret — to you at any rate — of why I do it; or for whom. What should I care for you and the rest of them? — riff-raff as you all are, cut-throat robbers and plunderers—’

‘Report says you rob and plunder with the best; and would cut a throat too, from all I hear — shoot to kill, at any rate.’

She shrugged. ‘I do what I must. And as you taught me, if you remember? I didn’t, before I knew
you,
go round holding men for ransom, selling my very life for gold—’

‘No,’ he said. ‘You were content to sell your body.’

She glared at him, speechless with rage; and only after a long moment spat out: ‘Ay — and to what a buyer!’

To her surprise he turned away his head before the glare of her eyes and said, almost sadly: ‘Why yes — you fared badly there.’ But he jerked himself to the present. ‘And how, if one may enquire, is our dear invalid?’

She moved sharply away from him, stood looking out over the lovely landscape spread below. ‘The wound was severe; I don’t know how much damage it’s done, I know nothing of these things. But he’s still very weak.’

‘Long may he continue so. For I warn you, Madam—’

She interrupted. She said almost piteously: ‘You mistake the situation. If he — if he loves me, I don’t even know it. He gives no sign.’

‘No doubt he stifles it; ever the little gentleman of honour. For he sees you as a married woman, no doubt, and there is still the Lady Blanche. He has his encumbrances also.’

She did not rise to his mockery; only stood with her golden head bent in the morning sunlight, the lovely face grown weary and sad. ‘You have never loved anyone,’ she said. ‘You don’t know what it’s like — to be so filled with it, possessed by it…’

‘God forbid!’ he said, roughly, and sprang to his feet, abruptly changing the subject. ‘Come, to business! You had better be on your way.’ He led the way back into the cave where, on the rock table, he had thrown down the rough bundle of his morning’s spoils. ‘You may have your share — keep it, hand it over to the gang, buy white roses with it for all I care; but it’s yours.’ And he tumbled the treasure out on to the rough surface of the rock and stood there appraising it: the small, round yellow-gold coins, the worked metal, the jewels glowing in the shaft of light from the cave mouth — ruby, sapphire, emerald, pearl… She stood staring down at it also, and said, because at the back of her mind something puzzled her: ‘Is this all?’

‘Is it all? It’s all they had, that’s certain. Is it not enough for you?’ He sorted out the money, put it aside, sorted out a third of the jewellery, twisted the rest back into its cloth, thrust the bundle into her hands. ‘I’ll keep the gold, it’s too hard for me, in my present position, to dispose of jewellery. This is yours.’

She pushed aside his hand. ‘I want none of it.’

‘Don’t want it? You’d have robbed her of it; I got in before you, that’s all.’ And as she persisted, he almost begged, growing kind: ‘Come, take it! I grudge you not a penny of it. I want you to have it.’

‘I’ll have none of it,’ she said.

He looked at her uncertainly; a little uncertainly laughed. ‘It’s because of Mifanwy? — my blue-eyed Mifanwy, who helped me relieve the lady of it. You think she should have it?’

‘I care nothing about her. No doubt she works for — love.’

‘Well, the—’ But now his brow grew black. ‘It’s that other one! It’s because it belonged to her, to the lady Blanche. Once before you refused these jewels, did you not? — flinging them into the mud for her to grovel for. And now…’ His eyes blazed. ‘Jealousy! Because it belongs to her, because
he
belongs to her — as by God you’ll find that he does, doting fool that you are!’ And with a swift, violent movement, he caught at her wrist, picked up the bundle and slapped it into her hand. ‘Come take it and spare me your maunderings, you sicken me! Take it — and then get you gone, vixen that you are and with your bright tail trailing in the slush of such sentimental vapourings as these…’ He gestured down the hill. ‘Go, get you gone! Whistle up your pony and be on your way! And within this week — for I’ll play the complaisant husband no longer to that whey-faced weakling of yours — have him on his feet and packed back to his mother; and go with him for all I care, for I’m sick of you.’ And he gave her a shove that sent her running and stumbling down the sharp hill, half out of control; and turned and went back into the cave, not waiting to see her go.

Running and stumbling, clutching the bundle to her breast — the bundle of Blanche’s jewels, emerald, sapphire, ruby, pearl…

Emerald, sapphire, ruby, pearl — no diamonds. Among her possessions, Lady Blanche Handley no longer numbered, it seemed, her diamond betrothal ring.

By mid-morning she was back at the Cwrt. ‘Let the men know that they needn’t ride tomorrow,’ she said to Dio, dumping the bag of jewels into his hand. A little lesson, she added piously, to be more wary in the future, of the so-called drunken indiscretions of gentlemen in plush breeches…

‘And Y Cadno deduced this also?’

‘Y Cadno? Do you know that I’ve been with Y Cadno?’

He laughed, shaking his great head. ‘You are yet very innocent, Madam Vixen fach; do you think we don’t keep an eye upon our treasure? Of course when we saw you safe into his company, we watched you no more.’

Oh, well… All the more reason… She went off to change and go in woman’s dress to David’s room. ‘No more laudanum,’ she said, taking the bottle from the nurse’s hand.

The girl was surprised. ‘The pain—’

‘Stimots,’ she said, using one of her new Welsh words. ‘Never mind.’ The pain in fact was no longer over severe, she had been in the habit of administering tiny doses now and again to dull down his interest in her goings-on outside the sick room. ‘You must be weaned of it,’ she said to David. ‘We must get you strong and fit to be moved from here.’

He looked at her with troubled eyes, more incapacitated nowadays, in fact, by the drug combined with too long confinement in bed than by the actual wound. ‘Has my ransom then been paid?’

She would not trouble him with details. One day it would all have to be told, somehow explained away — the Marchesa and her marriage, her present role at the Court of Foxes, all of it. But for now… ‘Rely upon me, I’ve spied out the land, I know it all. And the only hope is to escape.’

‘But if my family pays the ransom—’

‘They think that once you are safely home, you’ll start reprisals for your brother’s death.’

The clouded eyes looked back into hers; you could almost see the effort with which he willed his brain to function. ‘He’s gone. What use now is — revenge?’ He dragged it out slowly; he was very weak. ‘If my family — gave them a promise — no reprisals…’

No reprisals! Fools, stupid dolts and fools that they’d been, never to have thought of it! In return for David’s safe return home-no reprisals, now or ever on the part of the Tregaron family. The Fox could come back to his den, the gang would be freed of the threat that hung over them. But… She thought quickly. They would let him go; but what about herself? They would never take her word that in fact she was worth no ransom money, never let her get away until Y Cadno gave the word. And as for him… She remembered that night upon the moonlit road when she had told him all the truth about herself; the thrusting back upon her finger of the gold and ruby ring ‘where it belongs’, his words as she had fought off his kisses. ‘No use for you to struggle against it; or for me.’ She knew that love her, hate her — he would never let her go; above all never let her go to David of Llandovery, Lord Tregaron.

Once David was safely away she could ride out, of course… But no: had not Dio that very morning warned her, half teasing: she had been followed all the way upon her dawn expedition, spied upon, until they had seen that she met The Fox. And besides — to ride off alone, to try all alone to make her way back to London, a woman, unprotected… And meanwhile her lover would be once more united with his family; she was by no means certain that the absence of Blanche’s betrothal ring had any real significance — might he not, weak as he was, succumb to the weight of his responsibilities? She insisted therefore: ‘It’ll be best to somehow get away together—’