Ignoring Brother Thomas’s furious cries, Nest ran to the gateway to watch her grey pony bolting down the hill with Wolf clinging to its back. At the road it nearly fell. She clapped her hands over her face and watched through her fingers as it recovered and went tearing off along the snowy road with Wolf miraculously still in the saddle.
The men from the gatehouse behind her crowded out to see.
“He’ll break his neck!”
“Where’s he off to in such a hurry?”
A hand tapped Nest on the shoulder. “Don’t cry for him, my lovely — there’s other lads in the world!”
Nest stiffened. She spun around. “Were you speaking to me?”
One of Godfrey’s men stood there, wiping a smirk from his face. “Your pardon, lady.” He winked. “I only meant to say, our Lord Godfrey’ll soon cheer you up!”
Nest realised she was surrounded by men. More than half of them were strangers. They stared at her, nudging each other. And Brother Thomas came striding up like a tall, black scarecrow. “After that boy, some of you!” he shouted. “He stole a horse!”
“No he didn’t,” Nest contradicted. “I told him to take it!”
“You?” Brother Thomas demanded. “And why, may I ask?”
Her chin came up. “Lord Hugo went out — on his own business, and I sent Wolf after him.”
Brother Thomas’s black eyebrows met. He bent over her.
“That was most unwise,” he said softly. “The boy is quite untrustworthy. I say he has stolen the horse. He will not come back. As I said before, madam — you are very young. After you are married tomorrow, I trust you will leave such — impetuous decisions — to the better wisdom of your lord and master.”
Nest was stung. “Perhaps I will not be married tomorrow,” she said in a hasty, breathless voice. “My father has ridden away on business. I cannot be married until he returns.”
Brother Thomas lifted an eyebrow. “Do you not expect him to return by tomorrow?”
“Of — of course I do!” Nest stammered.
“Then of course the marriage will take place. And since, I am sure, nothing short of death would prevent Lord Hugo from returning in time for your wedding —” Brother Thomas raised the other eyebrow “— if he does not, naturally Lord Godfrey will honour his promise to make you his wife, and take you under his protection.”
Is he threatening me? Nest braced herself to meet Brother Thomas’s steel-cold gaze, and it was like meeting the eyes of some merciless bird of prey. Once she was married, Brother Thomas would be her own priest and confessor. He would exercise religious authority over her. And he knew it.
She looked down, intimidated and appalled. Brother Thomas smiled. Without taking his eyes off her he snapped his fingers at Madog. “Boy! Fetch me the elf-girl.”
As Madog, who spoke only Welsh, gaped nervously at Brother Thomas, Rollo came pushing brusquely through the crowd. He bowed to Nest with grim formality. “Allow me to escort you back to the Hall, my lady.”
Nest caught a breath of relief. She stepped gratefully ahead of him, and he muttered, “The elf-girl’s not there, is she? Has Hugo gone off with her?”
“Yes,” she murmured.
“Hell!” Rollo controlled his voice. “And Wolf’s gone chasing after? Mind you, Hugo likes him. If anyone can fetch him back…” He opened the door for her and bowed her through. “It’s all that jongleur’s fault. I swear this time I’ll tear his head off.”
“He’s gone too.”
“Has he? Has he?” Rollo drummed his fingers against his thigh. “All right, madam, without your father here I’d rather you didn’t wander about. There’s as many of Godfrey’s men here as there are of us — and no one in charge. I’d go after Hugo myself, but I couldn’t leave you and feel easy…” He whistled through his teeth. “It might be better if you kept out of sight. It’s nearly time for Mass. Afterwards, though, if you don’t feel like sitting through the feast, why don’t you go to your room with a headache? “With any luck, your father will be home by dark.” He didn’t sound as if he believed it. “If you need me, send for me.”
Nest nodded, unable to trust her voice. She swept across the Hall and ran upstairs. Angharad was there. Nest hurled herself across the room and buried herself in her old nurse’s comfortable bosom.
“Dearie, whatever’s the matter? There now! There now! My pet, my cariad! What’s wrong?” Between hiccups and sobs, Nest poured it all out. Angharad listened in growing concern. “Your noble father gone off with the elf-girl? And all because he thinks your good mother, God rest her, was stolen away by the elves? Bless me, the man’s a fool after all. I never knew a man who wasn’t. It’s true that the night she died, poor soul, I heard the wild hounds passing overhead baying and belling, a noise to make you shiver; but fenced around by holy candles as she was, and the holy name on her lips, how could anything evil touch her?
“And whatever shall we do if he’s not back by tomorrow? How can you get married, if your father’s not there?”
Nest sat up, wiping her eyes. She was ashamed of herself, but there was comfort in telling Angharad everything. It felt like being small again — though she knew Angharad was powerless to help. “They’ll make me marry Godfrey whatever happens. If Father doesn’t come back they’ll say he’s dead and Godfrey needs to p-protect me. And if he does come back, Father expects me to marry. That’s why he left. He thinks I’ll be h-happy…” Tears welled up again.
Angharad shook her head. “Well, maybe he’s right! Lord Godfrey’s a handsome, courtly young man, and if it’s what your father wants…”
“I hate Godfrey!”
Angharad clucked. “He’s been paying you a lot of attention. You might be a little shy at first, but you’ll get used to him, my dearie, never you fret. Come along, now. It’s Christmas Day. Put on your fine new mantle. We’ll go to Mass and we’ll pray for your father to come safely home. I’m sure it will all come right. You’ll see!”
She gave Nest a smacking kiss, opened the door to the top of the stairs and pushed her gently out. Voices floated up from below. Angharad and Nest stopped, transfixed. Brother Thomas was talking to Lord Godfrey.
“…taken the elf-girl already,” he was saying in his harsh, penetrating voice. “Rode off this morning, before anyone was up.”
“Hugo’s mad,” Godfrey grumbled. “To make such a fuss over a wife! After all, there are other women in the world.”
“Indeed,” Brother Thomas agreed with distaste.
Nest peered over the rail. The pair were standing directly beneath her, but the canopy that hung over the dais hid them from sight. Every word, however, was clearly audible.
Brother Thomas continued meaningfully, “But why need you care? You’ll marry the daughter tomorrow, and if Hugo never returns…”
“I’ll be the lord of La Motte Rouge. True!” Godfrey sounded more cheerful. “Pity the girl’s almost an idiot —and plain, too — but she’ll do. I don’t want a wife with opinions, and if I wish to be entertained I know plenty of other ladies who will be glad to do it. Yes. If Hugo’s set off on some crazy quest into Elfland, let him stay there.”
“God has brought us here,” said Brother Thomas piously. “There is work to be done.”
“Quite,” Godfrey coughed. They moved away.
Angharad and Nest looked at each other. “Well!” Angharad breathed. Her eyes flashed with indignation. “Well, really!”
Nest took Rollo’s advice. She and Angharad retreated to the solar after Mass, and bolted the door. A tear-stained Bronwen brought food upstairs to them, which Nest refused to eat. Tense and sick, she knelt by the window in the whistling draught, staring out at the white yard and darkening sky, hoping against hope to see her father and Wolf come riding in.
From below came laughter and sounds of merrymaking as Lord Godfrey and his men feasted. It was cold in the solar — but she’d rather freeze up here than be warm down there. The afternoon wore on. Once she heard Godfrey shouting drunkenly, “Where’s my bride?” and one of his men yelled, “I’ll get her!” There were cheers. Heavy feet stampeded up the stairs. Angharad rushed to make sure the door was properly bolted. Nest stood rigid. Then they heard Rollo roaring: “Off those stairs or I’ll drag you down!”
It sounded as though he really did, for there was a crash, and a series of bumps and curses. A voice wailed, “— it was only a joke!”
“Disgraceful!” Angharad panted.
Nest said nothing. She was ice-cold with fright and disgust.
“Disgraceful behaviour! When Lord Hugo hears about this—”
“If he ever does,” interrupted Nest, “it will be too late. This time tomorrow, I’ll be married.”
Angharad was silenced. Nest went to the reading stand, lit the candle, turned a page of the book. Her eyes slid over the words without taking them in. Her fingers shook with grief and fear and futile rage. How dared her father go off like this? How dare he leave her with no choice, except to marry a man she’d only just met, a drunken, avaricious fool who thought she was an idiot?
Oh, where are they? Wolf, and Father, and Elfgift? What’s happening to them now?
It grew dark outside. The turmoil below gradually sank away. Christmas day was ending. Angharad climbed into bed to keep warm, and fell asleep, but Nest paced up and down like a prisoner. Was it only this morning that she and Wolf had stood on the tower and seen the angels? It seemed a lifetime ago.
There was a scratching in a corner of the room. The hob came creeping out of the shadows, weird eyes glowing. “I reckoned you’d be hungry,” it said hoarsely. “I’ve brung a pie.” It stretched out a sinewy, hairy arm and offered her one of Herbert’s neat little glazed meat pastries.
Nest realised that she was starving. She bit into it and the hob watched with slightly envious approval. It cleared its throat. “That was a dinner, that was. Herbert did us proud. In a rare old temper he was, mind — your father not being here. Still, Lord Godfrey insisted. I’ll be the lord here tomorrow, he says, an’ if you want to keep your place, you’ll cook for me. So Herbert had to. Roast boar. Venison. A boned goose stuffed with apples and figs… You missed a treat, stuck up here.”
“It was too noisy,” said Nest. Her voice was loud in her ears. She hadn’t spoken for hours.
“It was noisy,” admitted the hob. It eyed her. “Looking forward to tomorrow? Getting wed?”
Nest wrapped her arms across her chest. “Of course I’m not.”
Wild-haired and tufty, the hob sat hugging its knees on the boarded floor. It smelled of smoke, and storerooms where cheeses are kept and sausages hang. It smelled of her childhood.
“What about all that stuff you said you wanted to do?”
“What stuff?” Nest said sharply.
The hob made a vague gesture. “Great things, you said. Stuff about stars. You know. Planets. Rats.”
“Rats?”
“There’s always rats,” the hob mumbled. “Wasn’t it rats? So why marry this Lord Godfrey, if you don’t want to?”
“It’s not as easy as that.”
“Easy? Who said easy? I thought you wanted to do something hard.”
It waited. After a while, as Nest did not answer, it slipped away. She sat on the floor, her chin in her hands, thinking. At last she got up and went over to the reading stand. Lives of the Saints. Tracing the lines with a finger she read to the bottom of the page, turned it, turned another. The candlelight shone on her dark hair and frowning, intent face. Long after midnight, rigid with cold, she blew out the candle and climbed into bed, pressing her freezing feet against Angharad’s warm bulk.
She fell asleep and dreamed of her mother. Eluned was standing by the north wall holding a broad paintbrush. She looked at Nest sadly, and slowly began painting out the map of the world with sweeping white strokes.
With Angharad behind her, Nest walked to her wedding down a narrow path someone had shovelled through the snow and scattered with ashes. By the time she reached the porch where Godfrey was waiting, the bottom of her dress was dirty and her thin shoes were soaked. She didn’t care. Her father had not come back. Wolf and Elfgift had not come back. It was beginning to snow again as they entered the chapel. Brother Thomas lurked just inside the door.
“The first sin of Eve,” he announced without preamble, “was disobedience.”
He shook his finger at Nest. “Never disobey your husband in any way. For if our first mother Eve had not committed the sin of disobedience, neither sickness nor death would have entered the world.”
The altar twinkled with candles, but the flames did nothing to heat the air. The cold silence was broken by coughs and sniffs, and suppressed sobs from some of the women. Behind Nest, Hugo’s household crowded in. Lord Godfrey’s men lined the walls. Above their heads the painted saints looked down with calm, stern eyes. Nest stood stiffly in her warmest cloak, staring straight ahead. Angharad held her left arm. Godfrey stood to her right, looking smug.
“The second sin of Eve was that of idle speech.” Brother Thomas glared around, looking especially at Angharad. “Chattering with the serpent Lucifer, who was too cunning for her weak and foolish brain! She should have kept silence.”
Angharad dabbed red-rimmed eyes and snorted indignantly, but she held her tongue.
“The third sin of Eve” — Nest closed her eyes and wished she could close her ears too. Her stomach fluttered with nerves. She wished it was over — “was of plucking and eating the forbidden fruit. For by that deed we were all delivered into the perils of death and Hell!” Brother Thomas rolled the words on his tongue and fixed Nest with a shrivelling stare as though she and she alone was responsible for every one of Eve’s dreadful faults. “Avoid the sins of Eve. Be modest, silent, virtuous, prudent. Acknowledge your husband’s authority, for he is wiser than you.” Godfrey smirked. “Obey him in all things.” Nest stared back.
“And now,” said Brother Thomas. The shuffling and coughing quietened. He turned to Godfrey. “Godfrey, do you take this woman, Agnes, for your wife?”
“Yes,” said Godfrey promptly.
“Agnes, do you take this man, Godfrey, for your husband?”
Nest’s heart banged so hard, she thought everyone must be able to hear it. Her hands shook. She looked Brother Thomas straight in the eye. She opened her mouth.
“Marry Godfrey? I’d sooner die!”
For a split second, his astonished, scandalised face was the sweetest thing she had ever seen. She shot out an arm, pointing to the saints on the wall, and instinctively everyone wheeled to look. “Saint Agnes was beheaded,” she said loudly and rapidly, “for refusing to marry a pagan. And Saint Winifred was decapitated for refusing to marry a man called Caradog. Her head rolled downhill and where it stopped, a spring of holy water gushed out of the earth. Saint Margaret wouldn’t get married either. She was swallowed by a dragon which got indigestion when she prodded it with a crucifix, and hiccupped her out. And Saint Catherine…” She was shouting now, shouting to be heard over the hubbub. “Do you think a single one of those saints would have taken your advice? Do what you’re told, don’t talk, don’t use your brain? Sir Thomas, is there anything a woman may do?”
The anger in his eyes was frightening. He raised his hand as if to strike her.
“She said YES!” Godfrey bawled. He seized her arm and pulled her towards him. “The girl agreed to marry me!”
“I said NO!” Nest tore free from Godfrey and dodged behind Angharad. Godfrey grabbed for her again, but Angharad was as solid and wide as a bolster. “You leave her alone!” she screamed. “You just leave my lady alone!”
A knot of her own men surrounded Nest. Tough old Rollo and dark-haired Geraint, stout Roger Bach and skinny Stephen shouldered in to protect her, to get her out of the chapel. They swept her towards the door. Some of Lord Godfrey’s men were there, barring it. Rollo flung himself on the nearest. Roger Bach dragged the door open. Daylight streamed in.
They burst out into the yard where snow was falling as steadily as white flour shaken through a sieve. Rollo slammed the chapel door behind him and hauled on the iron ring. Blood trickled from a cut eyebrow. “Help me!” he yelled. Stephen snatched up a shovel propped against the chapel wall. He thrust the wooden handle through the iron ring and braced it, levering the door shut.
“Nice work!” gasped Rollo. “Keep it shut as long as you can. No bloodshed though.” He grabbed Nest’s hand, yanking her towards the stables. “You might have warned me you were going to do that,” he panted. “What now? Where do you want to go?”
Nest hadn’t thought. Now she knew. “The convent! I want to go back to Our Lady’s In-the-Wood.”
“Sanctuary,” said Rollo. “All right. Madog!” he bellowed. “Horses!”
“Be quick,” begged Nest. “They’ll break out of the chapel any minute!” A crash and an outburst of yells confirmed her words.
Madog hurried out with two horses. Rollo threw Nest up on to the nearest, and sprang up himself. By the time Nest had arranged her skirt and gathered up the reins, Madog reappeared with two more horses. Geraint and Roger mounted. The animals tugged and pranced.
“Ride!” shrieked Nest.
As the horses surged out of the gate, Lord Godfrey’s men poured across the yard from the chapel. They didn’t shout; they ran for the stables. Looking over her shoulder, Nest saw Madog sent flying by a back-handed blow from Lord Godfrey. Then she had to concentrate on her riding.
The four big horses hurtled down the lane, excited to be out, plunging and jostling, kicking up a freezing spray of snow. They reached the road and began to gallop. Cakes of snow flew past Nest’s ears like white birds. She felt alive for the first time in weeks. Her veil blew across her face and with an excited laugh she pulled it away and flung it to the winds. Her hair streamed loose. She leaned forwards, urging the horse along.
Rollo drew alongside. “They’re after us!”
Nest glanced back. At least half a dozen riders were coming down the lane. Not so fast, though. Not at such a break-neck speed. The falling snow made everything dim and soft, but she saw Lord Godfrey out in front. Behind him rode the hooded shape of Brother Thomas in sweeping dark robes.
“If we stay on the road they’ll catch us. Follow me!” Rollo spurred towards the woods. The four horses bounded up the slanting hillside into the woods. Branches raked past. White-gloved twigs threw handfuls of snow down their necks.
The ground dropped away behind. Dark-stemmed pines rose from the slope like ship masts. The horses struggled, snorting, kicking their way up. The gradient changed. They burst out of the trees. Ahead of them stretched blank, featureless moorland, rising and vanishing. The snow fell all around them, dusting the horses’ dark manes.
“How can we ride over Devil’s Edge in this?” shouted Roger Bach. “And it’ll be dark before long.”
“Go back if you don’t like it,” Rollo bellowed. He slapped his steaming horse’s neck and began to ride up the hill, winding between gorse bushes and snow-capped rocks.
There were shouts in the wood behind them. Nest clapped her heels into her horse’s sides. They galloped over a rise and into the wind, which swept down from the ridge. The horses plunged into a dingle deep with snow-covered heather. Nest nearly fell. They heard mocking shouts from behind.
Rollo looked back. “They’ve seen us. If we can beat them to the top, we’ve still got a chance. Aim for the ridge, as straight as you can!”
Nest murmured encouragement to her horse, patting his neck. “Come on, boy. Come on!” The horses floundered valiantly uphill, struggling through the snow-filled hollows.
“We’ve gained a bit!” Geraint shouted. Lord Godfrey and his men had fallen behind.
The wind grew keener: the snowflakes swarmed like white bees. In this failing light it was easy to imagine things moving, like white hares with white hounds behind them, racing silently across the slopes.
And there! Flickering in and out of sight over the dips and hollows, something like a white, dancing child. It spun over a ridge and vanished, reappeared over the next, drawing nearer, ever nearer. Beside it leaped another of those ghostly snow-dogs — but this one looked more solid than most. Nest could see its lean body arching and stretching as it galloped across the slope. It was running against the wind!
The snow-dog barked.
“Argos!” shrieked Nest. “Rollo, it’s Argos — and Elfgift!”
The dog reached her, shivering and leaping with joy. “Oh, Argos,” cried Nest, bending down to him. He jumped and kissed her hand. “Where’s Father? Where’s Wolf?” She looked up. “Elfgift!”
Bare-foot, bare-legged, the childish figure stood warily poised on top of a drift. She looked so weird and wild, with her smock fluttering, and the wind-driven snow snaking past her, that Nest felt a shiver of awe.
“We’re wasting time,” yelled Geraint. Lord Godfrey’s half-dozen riders were strung out through the deep heather only a few hundred yards below.
“We can’t leave her!”
“We can’t take her,” Roger Bach howled. “She’s bad luck. Where’s Hugo? What’s she done to Hugo?”
“Stop!” Lord Godfrey bawled, spurring up the slope. “Bring back my wife, Rollo! Or I’ll hang you from the tower!”
“God’s bones!” Rollo kicked his horse forwards. Elfgift whirled as if to flee, but he reached down, caught the back of her smock and swung her up in front of him. “Now — ride!” he roared.
The horses bounded on. Argos sprang wearily beside them. Nest twisted in the saddle to look back down the bitter hillside. Wild emotions stirred in her. Rage at having to run like this. Desperation about Wolf and her father. If only Elfgift could talk! If only she could explain what had happened! She longed to turn back, to gallop madly down the hill to search for them.
“My lady! Keep up!” shouted Rollo over his shoulder.
The tangled heather gave way to barren grassy uplands where the wind-scoured snow was only a few inches deep. With renewed vigour the tiring horses cantered towards the skyline, where cruel rocks showed their black teeth along the crest of Devil’s Edge.