Rhiannon (11 page)

For a third time that day Rhia'd felt she might swoon, and this time, she had.

 
When she came back to herself, she was in a cool and quiet place, with whispery voices swirling above her head. Her surroundings were dim and shadowy, churchlike, though she knew, most from the sweet smell of fermented grain, that this was no church. Indeed, it was the under-croft of the ale-tasters' booth. Long-handled spoons and iron brewing pots, not water fonts and carved saints, crowded the space beneath every high arch that supported the timber building above.

She was stretched on a low stone table with a sack of barley for pillow. And above her head hovered, gentle as heavenly host, several of Granna's white-wimpled and crisply aproned friends, as well as Granna herself. The women's long white fingers were folded beneath their ample bosoms in what looked like concern. For
her
? Had she, then, somehow died and been laid out on this stony bier for viewing?

Well, she'd worry about it later, as it was too much to think about just now with her head aching so. The lavender cloth laid upon her brow felt so soothing. She closed her eyes and slipped again into a place where she was but a tiny child, really still a babe, sleeping on a pallet near the hives as her mother gathered wax and hummed a sadly beautiful tune to the listening bees . . .

“Rhia!” Granna's voice was a jolt, and moreso was the sharp slap she'd given Rhia's cheeks, one and then the other. “Don't ye go drifting away from us again, ye hear, girl?”

Something hard hit her right in the chest then, and she sat up, gasping for breath.

“I've decided to give you Queen Matilda till you grow well, Rhia,” Daisy pronounced, all solemnly. “She'll make you feel better, you'll see.”

Rhia shook the last fuzzy cobwebs from her head. Queen Tildy—who'd been affrighted herself when she'd been thrust so rudely into Rhia's rib cage, then tumbled all akilter to Rhia's lap—shook her own hide-covered head as though to regain her own wits.

Daisy leaned her elbows sadly and familiarly on Rhia's leg and let her head droop, needing comfort. “I love Jim,” she said simply.

Rhia grabbed her in a fierce hug. And then she found herself sobbing along with the child, as some watergate inside her had been breached by Daisy's innocent and heartfelt sentiments. Why,
she
loved Jim, too.

“This is an awful day!” the child suddenly exclaimed in her simple way. And then, she began to shiver so violently that Rhiannon was alarmed and clasped her all the harder, fearing she was fevered.

“The Gwent-Traed-y-Meirw has hold of her for sure.” Granna bent to murmur near Rhia's ear. “See yon white dog in the doorway? If we need more proof, there it be.”

Granna held that a white dog appeared when death had just come calling, and sure enough—a large, light-furred mongrel now stood in the doorway looking straight at them, his jaws aslobber. Granna also said that a cold gale blew over a new corpse and was immediately felt by closest family members, no matter if they were miles away. The Gwent-Traed-y-Meirw, that deathwind was called.

If Mam were here, she would have instantly berated Granna's belief in such ancient Welsh omens, but Rhia wouldn't. She believed Granna was perfectly right and that Daisy
was
shaking with the wind of death. She herself was somehow sure that Primrose and Ona had just then given their souls to God. Yes, she was sure of it.

She took Daisy's small face in her hands.

“It is a bad day indeed. But you and I are true sisters now, Daisy. You'll bear no sadness alone, not
ever
! I will always be there beside you.”

Daisy, pale as milk, nodded fiercely.

“Rhiannon, try your legs,” someone ordered, and Rhia saw Almund Clap elbowing closer through the hovering women. “Your grandmother's been too worried about you to worry about herself, but outspoken as she's been on the green today, we'd best take her right quick away from Woethersly. I'll travel as escort, and the moment you are able, we should make fast tracks up the bluff.”

Rhia stood, then crouched to place Queen Matilda gently back into the sling still suspended over Daisy's shoulder. She felt great relief that Almund Clap would be escorting them, but then new anguish over the great change in their returning party.

“Jim won't be going back with us, will he?” she whispered. “He's arrested, and will be held in the gaol until they surely . . .”

She stopped herself from finishing, because of Daisy. Though Jim would surely
hang,
out on Gallux Hump! She'd been in charge of their group today—this was
her
fault! Why'd she let Jim come along, especially after Granna's strong misgivings? And why'd she left the lot of them to consort with silly and feckless Maddy?

“We'll talk of it later,” the reeve said quickly and quietly. “As for now, let's away. I meant exactly what I said—this is no safe place for your group with Moira's insult still ringing in the ears of the local worthies. We'll take the nether way out of town, back through the newly burned lot beside the churchyard. I'll lead, with Moira. Rhia, you and Daisy follow close, and Thad's agreed to bring up the rear and keep watch behind.”

“Thad?” Rhia asked in a small voice, unheard by most in the room as Granna's friends had gathered close around her and were giving last bits of strident advice.

Someone detached himself from the shadows beneath an arch. He came a few steps closer but stayed on the edge of the crowd, bowing his head slightly to Rhia.

“
Thad,
Rhia!” Daisy, recovering her energy, pointed at him. “Thaddeus! You stared at him down on the beach this morning, remember? He was behind you at the green and caught you when you fell. He
carried
you here, and got word of it to us, as well.”

Rhia's face burned as though it were afire. “I wasn't
staring
,” she protested, gulping.

“Yes, you were so!” the child piped, all innocence. “You nigh stepped right off'n the bluff from staring at Brother Thaddeus so hard, don't you remember? You
did
!”

As they followed Almund's lead and slipped out of town the back way, then trudged along the nether side of the common barley field, then forded the River Woether, Rhiannon couldn't bring herself to so much as glance over her shoulder at the young monk who served as rear guard to their party. He surely regretted saying he'd serve as escort for a group containing such a shameless fool as she!
Twice
fool she must appear to him, one time fool because he'd witnessed her rage at his fellow clergy this morning at the churchyard, and a second time fool because he'd heard Daisy's childish insistence that Rhia'd been
staring
at him this morning from the trail! She almost hoped he had slipped away from their party in stealth, that he had run away and would keep on running clear back to Glastonbury Abbey, thereby freeing her of the need, required by the laws of courtesy, to turn and thank him for his service to her on the green this afternoon.

With only a small grunt for preface, Granna suddenly stopped hiking and sank down upon the lush grasses past the river to rest a bit before the steep trail. Almund Clap bent to show Daisy some little silvery fish, and Rhia, heart beating within her chest like a caged bird, finally took a deep breath and turned to face Thaddeus.

“I thank you for your service to me today when I became unwell,” she said in a rush before her nerve could desert her. Her neck felt afire. “How fortunate for me that you happened to be nearby. But what do I call you, sir? Brother Thaddeus?”

He smiled. “Call me only Thaddeus, as I'm a novice and have not yet taken final vows. And if I may, I'll take the liberty of calling you Rhiannon. And, well, I'd better confess that I didn't just
happen
to be there when you fainted. I was waiting behind you, hoping to have a word when you had leisure.”

When she looked puzzled, he quickly added, “Not that I'd go tailing you about! I assure you, Rhiannon, I meant no harm. I'm no vile stalker.”

She laughed, put at ease by that unlikely image. “I would hardly take someone like
you
for anything like
that
.”

“I'll consider it a compliment,” he murmured, laughing a bit at himself.

He pushed back his wide woolen sleeves and crossed his arms. The nails of his long, blunt fingers were stained with several colors, primarily black and beetroot, also a deep yellow and some woad. The bones in his wrists seemed large, and the muscles above them were strong and knotted. Rhia caught herself and dropped her eyes as Thaddeus took a step forward to speak more confidentially.

“When Reeve Clap told me this afternoon that your family is settled atop this high crag, I could scarcely believe it,” he murmured, shaking his head. “It
is
an extraordinary place at all times, I'm sure. But I looked for you at the village green to ask . . .”

He stopped, frowning, looking beyond her, over her head, letting his eyes travel the vast expanse of steep wooded slope that was Clodaghcombe Bluff.

“To ask . . . what?” she prodded.

“To ask about a group of folk I came upon last night as I walked the beach. They hastened into the forest at my approach, and though I came out to look for them again this dawn, they'd not come back. Reeve Clap says you and your mother and grandmother know Clodaghcombe Forest better than anyone else, so I looked for you to ask if you had recently come upon some folk living wild amongst the trees?”

Rhia narrowed her eyes. “Well, there did seem to be
something
amiss at one place along the trail, though in these deep woods the wind and the light can oft hoodwink the senses.” She lowered her voice to a whisper. “Tell me of these people. Were they standing with very little movement, some of them bent?”

Thaddeus nodded eagerly. “You
did
see them, then. My concern is that they are ill and not provisioned. I've seen their kind before, and know somewhat of their plight.”

Rhiannon sighed. “I saw them not today, but on the beach yesterday, as you yourself did. They're not from around here, but mayhaps they live the hike of a day or two away and were come for a spring diversion, as so many others did. This is for sure—
no
one can overnight in this steep forest of Clodaghcombe. There are wild boars and wolves, and pitfalls along the ground, which is very rocky and rough at best.”

Not to mention the ancient enchantments, such as the Devil Dogs of Clodagh, said to be held in a cave somewhere within the woods by a wizard's entrapment spell.

Thaddeus looked troubled, but didn't answer. A fog was coming in as evening approached. It hovered like a fist over the sea and extended white fingers ashore, which began to slowly grope through the trees and up the bluff as if looking for something lost.

“Come then, slackards!” Granna called, and they both jumped a bit, rapt as they'd been. The rest of their party had started up again and they'd not even noticed.

 
As Rhia'd feared, it was slow and treacherous climbing with the fog so thick that evening, concealing both woods to the left and the drop to the water on the right and seldom allowing a peek farther ahead than a pace or two. All sound was muted as well, except for the howls of the wolves, equally chilling and lonely-sounding in all weathers.

The one good thing about such a perilous hike was the concentration it took, allowing little room for thought about anything except the next footfall. Rhiannon desired
not
to think of poor Jim left behind, nor of the sad situation with Daisy's kin waiting for them at home. And yet it was impossible
not
to think somewhat about those things, as the very effort of not thinking of them proved to bring about the
thinking
of them!

“Queen Matilda is somewhat afeared for her life on this awful trail,” Daisy mentioned in a tiny voice. “I've told her to be a good, brave girl like you, Rhiannon.”

Rhia sighed. “I'm not so brave, Daisy. You'll find that out, now we're sisters.”

“What
do
you fear, Rhiannon?” Thaddeus asked quietly from behind them. It was the first time she'd heard his voice since they'd started up, which seemed an age ago.

She felt all flustered and could not talk.

“Rhia!” demanded Daisy. “The priest asked you
what
you're afeared of!”

Rhia sighed, remembering her jaunt with Maddy. “Well . . . dragons. I'm afeared of
dragons!
How's that?”

Daisy said nothing at first, then quietly asked, “
Are
there dragons?”

Rhia silently considered how to answer that troublesome question.

“Daisy, I'll tell you of Saint George and the very
last
dragon in the whole world,” Thaddeus spoke up heartily from the rear. “That fearsome beast lived within a bottomless pond just outside a village, you see, and each day the villagers threw him two sheep for his dinner. Well, that satisfied him for a while. But then, as all beings want some variety in their diet, he decided he required something richer. ‘I demand one tender human a year as my Christmas feast!' the ugly beast bellowed. ‘Why, I waste away with hunger for young flesh! You can see my very ribs, I grow so gaunt! Youth or maiden, either will do for this meal, by the by, as I'm not particular in my tastes!”

Daisy looked up at Rhia with her eyes wide, but with a bit of a smile. “Dragons don't talk,” she whispered.

Rhia shrugged and bit her lips, rolling her eyes in agreement.

“And so once a year the town cast lots, and one unlucky young person was given as sacrifice on Christmas day. And I believe that for a great many years this saved the village from destruction by that beast's fiery breath! But then . . .”