Barbara Erskine 3-Book Collection: Lady of Hay, Time’s Legacy, Sands of Time

She was lying on the sofa dressed only in her towelling bathrobe with her eyes closed after a long cool bath when she remembered what had happened. One minute she was gazing vaguely across the room, wondering whether she had the energy to fetch herself a cup of coffee, the next she sat bolt upright. It was as if a curtain had lifted. As clearly as if he were speaking in the room she heard Carl Bennet’s voice, ‘You will remember that you had a few strange, but unimportant dreams …’

‘Gloucester …’ she murmured. ‘But it wasn’t a dream. It was at Gloucester that I met John …’

It was nearly ten by the time Nick got back from Berkeley Street and he was in a foul temper. ‘Jim has cocked the whole thing up,’ he said, flinging himself down in a chair. He looked exhausted. ‘I doubt if I can sort things out. If I can’t I’m going to have to go to the States and stay there till I get another account as big as Desco, otherwise it’s the end of Franklyn-Greerson. Jim just doesn’t have a clue when it comes to fighting the big boys. He’s completely naive!’ He closed his eyes wearily.

‘But I thought Mike Desmond was a friend of yours.’ Jo sat down beside him.

Nick shrugged. ‘This is business, not friendship. But I’ll have a damn good go at getting it back before I give up entirely, you can be sure of that.’ He held out his hand to Jo. ‘Hell, I’m sorry, you don’t want to hear about all this. How are you feeling? Has the headache gone?’

‘Your post-hypnotic suggestion didn’t work,’ she replied bleakly. ‘I’ve remembered everything. Going to Gloucester, meeting Prince John – seeing Richard again.’

Nick swore softly. ‘We’ll have to try again, that’s all.’ He shook his head. ‘I wonder if Sam is right and Bennet doesn’t have the experience to cope.’

‘I don’t think it’s that. I think it’s probably that in my heart I don’t really want to give up. I want to know what happens. Anyway, come on,’ she released Nick’s hand, ‘you must be starving and I’ve defrosted some lamb cutlets. Is that a bottle of wine you brought in with you? If not, there are several in the wine rack. I’ve been stocking up.’

He drew the cork and poured two glasses for them while Jo put the cutlets on the grill pan and ground black pepper over them. She was beginning to feel hungry at last.

Nick handed her a glass. ‘It’s not getting any time to breathe, my need is too great at the moment!’ He sighed. ‘Well, what do we do about you now?’

‘Nothing. I’ll handle it alone.’

‘Handle it alone? You were screaming so loud that people came running from all over the building. Bennet had to give you a shot to calm you down, for God’s sake! How can you handle it alone?’

Jo frowned. ‘It was only finding those hands like that, knowing suddenly that the Welsh were there, even in the King’s encampment. I hadn’t realised how afraid I’d been when we were in Wales – always wondering when their revenge would start. I felt safe at last at Gloucester and I was alone in that tent, dreaming about Richard when suddenly, out of the night, in the middle of the King of England’s men, they were there. They could have cut my throat!’ She shuddered as she began slicing some tomatoes, sprinkling them with a few dried basil leaves before setting them beside the cutlets to cook. She stared down at the knife in her hand and dropped it hastily into the sink.

‘Whose hands were they?’ Nick asked quietly. ‘Do you know?’

She rinsed her fingers under the tap.

‘Three of William’s knights.’ She took the glass he offered her and sipped it thoughtfully. ‘I remember it quite clearly. We had been riding for some time, through mist, on the way to Gloucester when we saw a small wayside chapel, a shrine to a local saint. It was only a huddle of stones with a heather-covered roof, but as usual William went to kneel before the altar.’

Nick felt a quick shiver of warning touch his skin as he watched her. Her eyes were staring into the distance as she began to describe the scene and he found himself wondering suddenly if she even knew he was there any more.

‘Someone had left a garland of wild roses and honeysuckle on the stone slab and sweet herbs had been scattered around on the earth. I didn’t dismount, but Will had begun to squeal and I turned in my saddle and watched as the nurse raised him to her breast, wishing I could hold him myself.’ She paused, biting her lip. ‘Her mule lowered its head looking for grass to nibble and the boy at its head let it wander to a patch at the side of the road and stood there with the leading rein loose in his hand. It was silent, save for the champ of bits and the stamp of horses’ hooves. I used to join William, but lately I had taken to waiting in the road like the others – sometimes with a whistled prayer of my own – sometimes not.’ She smiled at Nick, who was staring at her. ‘After a moment William rose and crossed himself. Then he stopped. He was listening. Then we all heard it in the early morning silence, the sound of a woman singing somewhere on the hillside behind the shrine. Everyone’s heads turned and two of his knights wheeled their horses, closing up near him, as he stood dusting off his blue mantle at the knees. I remember they both had their hands on the hilts of their swords.

‘The deep, melodious singing was in Welsh, but I could not pick out the words. I pulled my cloak more closely round me, patting the neck of my horse, which was beginning to fidget, impatient to be moving. Still no one spoke. I think we were all frightened.

‘Suddenly William turned to one of his knights. “Take two men and find her. Be careful. It may be a trap.” He swung himself back up into his saddle. Although his face beneath its weatherbeaten ruddiness was pale, he sat erect, gazing after the three men.

‘After a few minutes the singing grew more distant, as though the singer were walking away from us, up the hillside.

‘I saw William swallow nervously, his eyes fixed on the track where his men had vanished. His horse shook its bit impatiently and pawed the ground and he stilled it with an oath and a tug at the reins. Not a breath of wind stirred the trees and the drift of mist obscured the track completely and the air grew chill.

‘He waited a few more minutes, as usual unable to conceal his irritation, then he barked a command and four more riders, their swords drawn, cantered up the track into the mist.

‘The skin at the back of my neck began to prickle and I looked round uneasily while the armed escort fingered their swords nervously. Only the nurse with the placidly suckling child at her breast seemed unconcerned.

‘Suddenly the four knights reappeared, slithering down the track. They were alone. The rider of the leading horse drew his mount to a rearing halt at William’s side and saluted with his sword.

‘“No sign of them, Sir William. The track divides in several places, but the mist is thick in the trees and we could see no hoof marks. It’s so quiet up there. We tried shouting, but …” Then his voice tailed away and he glanced over his shoulder at his companions for support.

‘William’s face flushed. “They can’t be lost,” he shouted. “Look again. Take more men – take twenty men – and scour the hillside! I want those men found, and I want the woman who was singing.” He drew his sword and held it ready across his saddle, then he gave me a grim smile. “This is some trick of those damn Welsh,” he said.

‘The hillside above us echoed to the shouts of the armed men as they forced their horses through the thick undergrowth, hacking with their swords. But they found no sign of the missing men. Eventually William had to give orders to continue without them.

‘It was not until we had trekked over the pass at Bwlch that I ceased to feel that strange prickling sensation beneath my skin. It was then that I realised what it was. We were no longer being watched. The severed hands came from those three missing knights.’

Jo came to herself suddenly with the realisation that the kitchen was full of the smell of burning. She put down her glass with a little cry and grabbed the grill pan.

Nick was staring at her, a strange expression on his face. ‘You described none of that under hypnosis,’ he said quietly.

‘Didn’t I?’ She glanced up as she turned the meat and tomatoes and lowered the flame. Putting them back, she poured some more wine. ‘No harm done, thank goodness. It was just the fat catching. A good thing we were standing here.’

Nick hadn’t moved. ‘How much else can you remember?’ he asked after a moment.

She reached into the cupboard for two plates. ‘Everything, I suppose, until we left Gloucester. At least, it seems like everything. Come on, let’s eat before this lot gets itself incinerated. I don’t want to talk about Matilda any more. Tell me what you’re going to do to sink the opposition.’

It was nearly midnight when Jo had tidied away their plates and made some coffee. Nick was sitting on the floor of the living room leaning against the sofa, his head resting on the seat cushions, his eyes closed, as he listened to the last tape of the ‘St Matthew Passion’. As the last notes of the final chorus died away he raised his head and looked at her.

‘What was that flute music you had on that day Sam came over?’

‘Flute music?’ She knelt beside him and reached for the orange coffee pot. ‘I haven’t any recordings of flute music.’

‘You must have.’ He frowned. ‘It was a strange, rather haunting, formless solo piece. I’ve never heard it before.’

She shrugged. ‘Perhaps it was on the radio.’ She glanced at him uncomfortably. Nick had drunk most of the bottle of wine himself, quickly, without savouring it, which was unusual for him, and she could see that he was still tense and angry, the lines of his jaw taut as he lay back against the sofa cushions.

‘Tell me,’ he went on after a moment, ‘if you remember everything about your visit to Gloucester so clearly, did you meet Richard de Clare again?’

‘Nick. I don’t want to talk about it.’ She was filling her cup and did not look at him.

‘I want to know, Jo.’ His voice was quietly insistent.

She sighed. ‘I did see him, yes. He was a close adviser of the King’s. Once he arrived at Gloucester he was constantly in attendance on him.’

‘But did you see him alone?’

Jo smiled reminiscently in spite of herself. ‘Yes, I saw him alone the day after the awful business with the hands. He came to my tent. William had announced that we were going back to Bramber before the weather closed in. He was unnerved by the whole affair and he had given orders that we were to set out the following day.’

‘And Richard came to your tent?’

Jo glanced up, hearing the undercurrent of anger in his voice. ‘We said goodbye, yes,’ she said cautiously.

‘Did he kiss you?’

She saw his blue eyes narrow. ‘Nick. For goodness’ sake –’

‘Did he?’ He sat up watching her intently.