| |
Day Two
Catrin
––––––––
Instinct had made Catrin run toward the oncoming crowd of angry townspeople, and instinct made her stop twenty paces from them. She had her arms out wide, waving them, and she was close enough that the leader, a tall black-bearded fellow, could see her by the light of the torch he carried.
“Stop! You have to stop!”
She spoke in English, which he understood, and it seemed the sight of her was enough to at least slow the horde’s progression. It was helpful too that the people behind him had already walked a mile from the castle to reach the village. It wasn’t a difficult walk by any means, but it might be that a few of them had sobered up in the time it had taken.
The man flung out his hand to their sole archer. “Light another one, John!”
The fact that the young man in question had almost killed her a moment ago didn’t seem to daunt him, since he obeyed instantly, laboriously lighting the shaft of another arrow. He wasn’t a very good shot, but if he shot enough arrows, he would eventually kill someone.
“Stop it! Stop it!” Catrin planted herself in front of the archer instead of the leader. “Why are you doing this?”
The young man laughed, despoiling her air with the smell of ale. “They’re murderers! All of them!”
“They’re women and children!”
By now the group had started moving again, some already past her, and she hiked up her skirts and got in front of them again. Ahead of her, she could see Rhys emerge from a hut with an elderly woman in his arms. His horse was being held on the green by a tall woman, which likely was the only reason it hadn’t bolted, given the flames.
By now, the townspeople had reached the first hut, the roof of which was engulfed in flames, and their leader began pointing people towards other houses. “That one!” he said, gesturing a torchbearer to the house from which Rhys had just come.
Catrin ran to the horse and scrambled onto its back, cursing the length of her skirt, which she had to tuck up around her knees.
Then she urged it directly towards the initial torchbearer, whom she took to be the leader. She could hear Rhys shouting in Welsh from behind her for her to stop, but it was as if all her suppressed loss and anger and grief was on the surface. She couldn’t stop for him. She couldn’t stop for anyone.
That is, until a bellow came from behind her, this in French. “By all that is holy, you will go no farther!”
She couldn’t help but rein in and turn. It wasn’t Rhys’s voice but one she knew better, simply because she’d spent the last year in the company of the man’s wife.
King Edward was standing in his stirrups, gesticulating and shouting, now in clipped English with a few of the words he knew—chief among them being, “Stop!”
A host of mounted men flowed around him, already starting to corral the townspeople. Three huts were alight, but more men had dismounted, Simon among them, and they were organizing a chain of buckets of water from the river.
The king settled back in the saddle, and because his eyes were on her, Catrin trotted the horse to where he waited.
“Thank you, sire,” she said simply. “If you hadn’t come—” She found her throat closing at the thought.
“I will not have disorder!” He was angry, but then he put out a hand to her. “Where’s that truant, Reese?”
Catrin couldn’t lie. “There, sir.” She pointed to where Rhys was just passing off to a young man the elderly woman he was carrying and called his name.
Rhys turned, saw the king, and, to his credit, didn’t hesitate or waver. He made his way straight over, striding out with his long legs. When he reached them, he caught the bridle of Catrin’s horse before bowing his head. “Sire.”
King Edward glared at him. “After you see to your people, you’ll be finding out who incited the townspeople to violence.”
“Yes, my lord.”
“Damn fools. As if I didn’t have enough to worry about. And you!” the king turned to Catrin. “What were you thinking?”
Catrin swallowed hard. “I was trying—”
“It’s just a house. Not worth losing your life over.” His anger was cooling, and he spoke his next words more calmly. “Homes can be rebuilt, but you are irreplaceable. I can’t have Eleanor upset.”
“No, my lord.”
Abruptly, the king turned his horse’s head and trotted it to where Simon was conferring with three other men. At the sight of the king coming towards him, Simon detached himself too. Catrin couldn’t hear what they said to each other, but then Simon snapped his fingers, and four of the cavalry aligned their horses with the king’s in a protective stance, and rode away south, heading for the church and, ultimately, the castle.
Rhys put a hand on Catrin’s calf. “You should follow.”
“No.” She looked down at him, and then slid off the horse as if she was snow melting off a roof. A heartbeat later she’d wrapped her arms around Rhys’s neck. He clenched his arms tightly around her waist.
“I was so scared for you,” he said into her hair.
“And I for you.”
