And then they are gone.
I’m on the floor. The whole room is blurry. A boy crouches nearby, curled up tiny. He reeks of piss. He’s crying.
William. William ap Gerald, who even now pays for the sins of his father.
I crawl near. Hold out an arm to hug him. He’ll push me away. Bid me leave him be. I can’t help it, though, and I gently put a hand on his back. With a sob, William snakes his arms around my waist and grips tight like he might fall. I pull him close and pet his hair like I saw Nest do, like I once did with Miv, like I still sometimes do with Margred, and after a while his sobs wear down to heavy, snuffly breathing.
“Is . . .” William swallows. “Is he going to kill my mama?”
I shake my head. My throat feels full of wet sand.
“I hate him,” the boy mutters. “My papa will kill him when he comes to save us.”
Fled down the privy shaft. Deep in Dyfed by now, cowering behind sturdy walls. I wonder if there’s any truth to it or if it’s spun of pure falsehoods. Gerald of Windsor is still alive, though, and by no means is it mischance. Nest said she helped him escape, but if Owain wants a man dead, he’s soon dead. Gerald has no doubt as to who raided his house. Knowing whose warband has unmanned you is meant to linger like a bad smell. By now Gerald has learned what befell his wife and children, and it won’t be long before he hears how Nest is anything but a hostage here. All because he ran like a rabbit to save his own skin.
We pushed Miv’s cradle against the wall. We wanted her out of sight, so even if they did care about her, perhaps they would not see her.
“I wish Papa was here right now.” William’s voice is barely a whisper.
“I-I’m here,” I reply quietly, because I am pushing down echoes one by one.
“He’ll kill us, too.” William’s eyes are huge and staring in the dying firelight. “Me and David and Angharad. He’ll kill us all dead.”
This poor child believes it like gospel. He has no reason not to. And I have no reason to doubt Owain’s willingness to leave each of them hanging from trees like a trail of breadcrumbs for Gerald of Windsor to follow.
“Hey.” I gently move William’s head so he’s looking at me. “I know you’re scared. I’m sorry for it. But you must keep your wits. All right? You can come out of a lot of things if you steady yourself.”
William bites his lip. “You sound like Alice. Are you our new Alice?”
“I . . . I’m Elen.”
“Mama said Alice had to stay behind,” he goes on quietly, “but she wasn’t moving when they made us leave.”
I will not think how Einion penteulu bragged at supper about a baby nurse and how she wept and pleaded, the color Nest turned, how the others snickered as she fought to keep from being sick. I will not think of the door to the maidens’ quarters, how it wouldn’t withstand a single boot to the cross braces.
Instead I say to William, “Let’s get you cleaned up.”
He nods but makes no move, so I help him peel off his piss-soaked hose and give him a damp cloth to wash his legs. After a few half-hearted swipes, he drops the rag and wriggles back against me without a word. I collect David under my other arm. He lies against me like a toy stuffed with sawdust, and William reaches across my lap to push hair from his brother’s eyes.
That leaves Not Miv. She’s playing with a set of metal rings that I’ve seen the steward’s grandson with.
The last time I held my baby sister, I had her on my hip as I slung the leather bucket dripping and heavy up the creekward path for what felt like the hundredth time that day. It did not occur to me to look over my shoulder or I might have seen the thin whispers of black smoke hovering over the next vale. I merely set the bucket by the fire and put Miv in her cradle with a wooden spoon to gnaw. I turned away from her, rubbing my sore arm and thinking how glad I was that it would be Rhael’s turn to carry her next time.
I grab Not Miv under the armpits, tuck her into the crook of my leg, then whip my hands away. My palms are sweaty. My heart racing. But she doesn’t cry. She doesn’t judge me, cold and silent. All she does is drool and bang one ring on another with her little unburned hands.
I close my eyes. I told William I was here, and here’s where I’m going to stay.
WHEN I AWAKEN, NEST IS STANDING OVER ME WEARing a servant’s linsey gown. I startle and try to get up, but William is fused to my side with both arms around my waist. David is curled next to me, and Not Miv lies across my lap.
Nest will be seeing the mongrel dog off its tether. Near her children.
But she sways on her feet. Her hair is loose and stringy, and all she does is hold out her arms like she’s waited an age to do it. I lift Not Miv off my lap, and Nest takes her quick and hugs her hard, one hand on the baby’s head like she’s newly born.
I gently peel William’s arms away and slide out from under both him and David. My sleeve is wet from where Not Miv pissed on me sometime in the night.
“They’re all right?” Nest does not look away from her sons sleeping in a pile, like puppies.
I nod. I roll my aching shoulders and rub my neck.
“You’re sure?”
“I sat with them all night.”
Nest lets out the longest breath and slides down the wall in small, painful movements.
The hall is dim and still. No trestles being set up for a meal. The fire confined and austere. The steward is telling Owain not so subtly that he’ll no longer find this fort comfortable, which means we’re leaving and soon.
The door is open, though, probably left that way by Nest, and outside, Owain moves past in his leather armor, swearing and calling for Einion penteulu to make sure the lads are ready to leave before sunup.
William shifts in his sleep, one hand flailing until it falls on David. He curls close to his brother, his arm across the younger boy’s shoulders. I kneel to retuck his cloak around them like I would for Margred, but Nest makes a fierce little noise in her throat. I pull my hand back. She says nothing else, only fixes me with a steady, narrow-eyed stare.
I am out the door. I don’t even close it behind me.
In the yard, I soak the sleeve of my gown in the horse trough to be rid of the piss smell. The shock of cold water wakes me up right and proper, enough to reckon how much my belly hurts. It’s good that the warband will spend the day on the march. I’m not sure I can be around Owain ap Cadwgan today.
Nest, either.
This won’t be the first time we’ve left somewhere in a rush with no breakfast, but when I turn up at the back door of the kitchen, the steward fills my apron with oatcakes and cheese. I nod when he says I’d best make sure it gets to the right people. I don’t know how to tell him Nest wouldn’t take the keys to Heaven from my rotting corpse.
Outside, under the kitchen’s overhang, I shiver and fidget in the biting wind. My rucksack is in the hall. Where Nest is. Where the little ones are. But I’ve got to pack. I know better than to slow the warband down.
The children will drag the pace, though. They can’t help it.
I’m rushing across the yard and dodging patches of muddy ice and worrying about the little ones when I almost collide with Owain, blocking the hall door. His back is to me, and he’s leaning on the frame and shaking his head in an overdone way at whatever’s going on inside. I duck under his arm and my stomach clenches.