Lady of Hay

33

The Porsche turned cautiously up the steep lane following its bumpy twists and turns as Nick peered through the windshield and then down at the ordnance survey map on the seat beside him. He was very tired.

After drawing the car up next to Jo’s at the top of the lane, he climbed out at last, staring at the view in silence. Then something made him turn.

Jo was standing behind him in the doorway to the farmhouse. She was far more tanned than he remembered, her face and arms burned like a gypsy, her long hair caught back on the nape of her neck. She was wearing a simple white dress and low-heeled sandals and looked, so he thought with a pang of strange fear, almost supernaturally beautiful. Slowly he swung the car door shut.

“How are you, Jo?”

She still had not smiled. “How did you know where I was?”

“Someone told me you were back in Wales so I drove to Hay. Margiad said you were up here.” He had not moved.

She watched him warily. His face was thin and there were lines of fatigue beneath his eyes and around his mouth, but he was still in her eyes the most handsome man she had ever seen. He was wearing an open-necked blue shirt and cords. “You’ve seen the article?” she said softly.

He nodded.

“Is it true?”

For a moment he didn’t reply, then slowly he nodded. “I think it probably is.”

Behind her Ann had emerged from the low shadowed building. She looked at them in silence for a moment, then she held out her hand. “Hi. I’m Ann,” she said.

“Nick Franklyn.” Nick moved forward at last and gripped her fingers for a moment. “I’m sorry to arrive unannounced. I meant to call from Hay, then I thought perhaps I’d better surprise you-”

“In case I ran away?” Jo said.

“Under the circumstances I wouldn’t have blamed you if you had.” He forced himself to smile at Ann. “I’m sorry if I’m intruding-”

“You’re not. I’m glad you’re here. And you’re in perfect time for a drink. Ben has promised we can resort to gin tonight after inflicting home brew on Jo all yesterday, so you picked your moment well.” Ann turned. “Jo. You promised Bill and Polly you would build one more sandcastle before they went to bed.”

She watched as Jo disappeared into the farmhouse. “She said she never used to like kids,” she said reflectively, looking after her. “Till she had six of her own.” She gave a wry little laugh. “Now she’s great with them. Better than me.” She linked arms with Nick and led him toward the stone wall that bounded the garden at the western end. They stopped and leaned on it, staring at the mountains in the distance. A smoky haze was beginning to shroud the valleys round their feet.

“Jo has told us something of her story,” Ann said reflectively after a moment. “She has asked me to help her, and I want to.”

“I gather she has decided to stop the whole thing.”

“She can’t stop, Nick.”

Nick sighed. He said nothing, his eyes on the distant view.

“She showed me the article about your experiences,” Ann went on after a minute.

Nick slammed the palm of his hand down on the top of the wall. “My ‘experiences,’ as you call them, were not genuine,” he said forcibly. “Most of that article was a load of rubbish.” He swung to face her. “It has to have been!”

Ann looked at him seriously, trying to read the expression in his eyes-the anger, the frustration, and, yes, the fear. It was all there for a moment before the shutters came down and she saw his face close.

“Most?” she said softly. “Then some of it was true?”

He leaned against the wall, facing her now. “I find it strange she should confide so completely in people she barely knows,” he said with sudden harshness, ignoring her question.

Ann smiled. “There’s a reason. I do know something about hypnosis-and about past life recall-but I hope it’s more than that. I hope we have become her friends as well. I can’t take the credit for it if we have, though. That’s Ben. Everyone trusts Ben.” She glanced away almost shyly. “I hope you will too.”

As if on cue, Ben appeared from behind the house carrying a basket loaded with vegetables. He raised an earthy hand and disappeared in through the front door.

Ann stood up. “Come and meet him, then we’ll get you that drink. Jo must be about ready for rescue from our kids by now.”

They ate outside by candlelight beneath a luminous sky streaked with shooting stars. In the valley they could hear the yap of a hunting owl and, closer at hand, the thin whisper of upland crickets.

Ben pushed back his plate. “That was lovely, Annie. You excelled yourself, my dear.”

She smiled at him dreamily. “And my reward? Will you fight the filter, just this once?”

Ben laughed. He leaned across and rumpled her hair. “Just this once, okay. Come on, Jo. You look like a competent sort of female. Help me.”

Ann leaned back in her chair as Jo and Ben disappeared into the kitchen and the door swung shut behind them, shutting off the stream of light from the oil lamps.

“I suppose you don’t feel like confiding in a couple of strangers too?” she said after a moment.

Nick was staring at the stars. “There must be a shower of meteorites going over,” he said quietly. “That’s about the sixth shooting star I’ve seen.”

“They’re supposed to be lucky,” she said. “I’m a good listener, Nick.”

He smiled in the darkness. “I don’t know if there is anything to say.”

“You’re worried.”

He nodded.

“And you’re afraid.”

He tensed and for a moment she thought he would deny it. “Yes, I’m afraid.”

“For Jo.”

“What would you say if I told you I think I may have been programmed to hurt her?”

“I would say it was impossible.”

“But can you be sure of that?”

She could feel his eyes on her in the small dazzle of the candlelight. “Almost. Yes.” She leaned forward. “What do you mean by programmed?”

“I allowed my brother to hypnotize me. I trusted him completely, I had no reservations. It turns out I was mistaken in doing that. He claims”-he hesitated-“he claims that he has already set me on a course from which I cannot draw back. One that involves Jo’s destruction.”

He had taken an unused spoon between his fingers, twisting it restlessly to and fro. It snapped suddenly under the pressure and Nick stared down at it in surprise. “I’m sorry-”

“It doesn’t matter.” Ann hadn’t taken her eyes from his face. “Listen. Tell me honestly. How do you feel about Jo? Do you distrust her in any way? Do you dislike her? Resent her? Hate her?”

“No. God in heaven. No!”

“You say that without reservation?”

“Yes.”

“Then I don’t think you have anything to fear.”

“But supposing Sam has planted some idea in my head that I don’t remember? He has discovered-or tried to convince me-that I am-I was-John. He knows and I know that Jo is-was-Matilda. For God’s sake, can’t you see what’s happening? He wants me to kill her again!”

Ann felt a whisper of cold air across her skin. She glanced at the candle flame, expecting it to flicker. “What you are suggesting, Nick, can’t happen in real life. It’s pure science fiction. If it were possible, people would have the perfect murder weapon, wouldn’t they?”

“You’re sure?”

“I’m sure. What kind of creep is your brother anyway? Jo told us she had always liked him.”

Nick stood up abruptly. He walked to the edge of the terrace and stood looking out into the darkness. Far away in the valley car headlights showed for a moment on the main road as two tiny silent pinpoints of light, then as the road wound out of sight they disappeared.

“I think he is in love with Jo,” he said softly.

“Then why would he want you to kill her, for God’s sake?”

He shrugged. There was a long silence. “I’ve always worshipped Sam,” he said at last. “But now I realize that he hates me. I expect he always has.”

Ann stood up. She went and stood beside him. “That’s tough.”

“Yes.” His voice was bleak. For a moment he said nothing more, then out of the silence he said, “Please, don’t regress her anymore, Ann.”

“If I don’t she will do it on her own, Nick, spontaneously. The need to know what happens next is too strong in her. She can’t fight it. Maybe that is something your brother has implanted in her. I don’t know. But if Jo is going to regress with this violence it is much better that it happens in reasonably controlled conditions among friends than out in the streets or somewhere on the mountainside.” She could see his face clearly in the starlight. “Are you afraid to see her as Matilda again in case it prompts you to try to hurt her?” she asked at last.

“I suppose I am.”

“There is no need.” She hesitated for a moment, then plunged on. “We had planned for another regression this evening. If Jo still wants to do it, Nick, I think we should. I think it’s doubly important, now that you’re here.”

The ride through the hills was exhilarating. Matilda sat her white Arab mare, feeling the creature’s grace and speed as it danced ahead of the more solid horses of her kinsmen Adam de Porter and Lord Ferrers. In spite of the fear that lurked at the back of her mind and the need for haste as they rode down the tracks softened by spring rain and everywhere budding with new green, she felt a strange, optimistic lightness of heart.

By the time they rode into Gloucester, though, her mood had changed. A damp white mist clung over the river, swirling up the narrow streets of the town and hiding the tower of the cathedral. The joyous spring day had been extinguished by a damp, cold evening, and her fear had returned fourfold. She and she alone must face the king and beg him to reinstate William in his favor.

William’s fall had been sudden and unexplained. Only two days after John had left Bramber after Will’s wedding, messengers came from the royal exchequer, abruptly demanding repayment of all the money that William owed the king.

“Christ’s bones, how does he think I can pay?” William had fumed, waving the parchment under Giles’s nose. “And why now? Why does he want the money now? He made no mention of it at the wedding! He seemed pleased to be there.”

“Can you really owe the king so much, Father?” Giles had at last managed to take the parchment from his father’s flailing hand. “How could you let your debts mount so?” His solemn face was anxious.

William rounded on him. “There isn’t a nobleman in the kingdom who doesn’t owe money to the king! Fees, fines, reliefs, taxes! Good God above, how could any of us pay so much? He knows he’ll get it all in the end, or if he doesn’t, his heirs will, from mine. Apart from anything else, I have had two lots of marriage relief to pay in six months-a thousand pounds each! That’s what your brothers’ wives cost me!”

Giles was reading the parchment slowly, his anger tracing the figures methodically down the page. “It says here, Father, that you still haven’t paid any of the relief for your Honor of Limerick after Uncle Philip died. That dates back five years.”

“Five years!” William exploded. “Some of the bastards haven’t paid for fifty years! Why does John suddenly pick on me? What about some of his precious earls?”

“Have you displeased him at all, Father?” Giles looked up, his green eyes scanning his father’s face seriously.

“Of course not.” William smacked the palm of his hand with the rolled parchment. His jaw was working with agitation. “God damn it, Giles”-for a moment he forgot his son’s exalted calling-“he came to Will’s wedding. He gave him rubies and emeralds for a wedding gift. Would he have done that if I had displeased him?” He strode back and forth across the floor excitedly.

“Perhaps it is merely routine demand from the exchequer. The king may not even have realized from whom he was ordering the money.” Giles hesitated. “I suppose our mother…?”

“Oh, yes!” William whirled around. “Your mother! She might well have something to do with it! She was antagonizing the king deliberately. I’ve seen it coming. If she’s said something else to make him angry…”

“No, Father.” Giles’s cool voice cut across William’s outburst. “I was going to suggest you ask Mother whether the Welsh lands might not produce some of the money to pay off a little of the debt. She is renowned, in the March, you know, for her husbandry.” He smiled. “She is your best steward, Father. I don’t think sometimes you realize how hard she works.”

William snorted. “Well, if she’s hoarding my money-”

“Not hoarding, Father. She takes a pride in her herds and her lands. She loves the Welsh hills. I hear people speak of her with awe and respect and love.” Seeing his father’s expression, he hastily changed the subject. “I am sure you can have this demand postponed, Father, if you go to see the king again. Why not ask him directly? Take him a gift-a new book for his library is a sure way to win his favor back, you know that as well as I do. Wait on him as soon as you can.”

William looked hopefully at his son, a little reassured by Giles’s calm words. The demand had worried him. A year earlier he would have laughed it off and stuffed the parchment away among a hundred others in his own chancery office, confident in the king’s total goodwill. Nothing obvious had happened to shake his confidence and yet there was something, an uneasy feeling gnawed at the back of his mind, a suspicion that the king was not quite as friendly as before; a hint here and there among his friends that he should tread warily. Nothing had been said; nothing done. But William had felt a sudden chill hover over him.

Matilda was appalled when she saw the size of William’s debt. “Have you paid nothing to the king since his coronation?” She scanned the parchment and looked up from William to Giles to Will, who was leaning by the chancery window, his arms folded, a worried frown on his face; behind them the scribe and William’s clerk sat at the high desk, their pens at the ready. Why? Why the sudden demand after all these years? She had a vision of John’s face in the chapel and she closed her eyes, trying to steady the sudden irrational wave of fear that had filled her and the thought that the demand might not be unconnected with the fact that the king had seen her hand in that of Richard de Clare.

“We must pay something at once, William.” She beckoned her own steward, who was waiting with an armload of rolled parchments. Then she stopped. “I thought you were told originally to pay the taxes for Limerick to the Dublin exchequer. Why does Westminster suddenly want them?”

William shrugged. His shoulders drooped a little.

She gave an exasperated sigh. “Here.” She pulled a parchment from her steward’s hands and scrutinized it closely. “I can find about seven hundred marks. Those will be sent to the exchequer straight away. See to it,” she directed William’s steward, who bowed and began to scribble as she felt for the keys at her girdle. “It is lucky, William, that we had so good a year in the March. I was able to sell cattle and there is money in the coffers.” Giving one of the keys to her steward, she directed him to fetch the gold. “It is not safe to be so much in the king’s debt, William.” She put her hand on his arm gently. “We must pay it off.”

William laughed. The whole episode had frightened and annoyed him, and his family’s reaction to the size of his debt had first worried and then irritated him irrationally, but now that some money was to be returned, and so easily, he felt completely happy again. “That’ll be enough for the king,” he replied, shaking off her hand. “I’ll have a word with him. I’m sure it’s all a mistake.”

But it was not a mistake. The king had, it appeared, every intention of holding William to the repayment of his debts. He accepted the carefully chosen, exquisitely illuminated volume of Geoffrey of Monmouth’s History of the British Kingdom and within two weeks William had received a further demand from the exchequer.

Early the following year the next blow had fallen. William was ordered to give up his lordships of Glamorgan and Gwynllwg to one of the king’s new favorites, an adventurer named Fawkes de Breauté.

“Christ’s bones, Moll. What will he want next?” William had ridden in desperation to consult his kinsman William, Earl Ferrers, who remained high in the king’s favor, and he had returned with vague assurances of friendship from the young man but with the same advice-pay up as much as you can and keep a low profile until the king’s displeasure was dissipated.

“He wants money, William. You’ve got to accept the fact and we’ve got to find it.” Matilda forced herself to continue studying the embroidery before her, feeling the tightness of fear close across her chest like an iron band. “You cannot get out of it. He will not be fobbed off any longer. John is getting angry.”

Again and again William begged and pleaded with the king to extend the time he needed to repay his debts and reinstate him in favor, but to no avail. The king remained deaf to his desperate demands to be granted further audiences and turned to new friends. It was clear that the de Braose family was to be ruined unless something or someone could be prevailed upon to change the king’s mind. So, after long and worried consultations with Giles and Will, who had arrived with Mattie and their baby son, John, diplomatically named for the king, it had been agreed that Matilda should try alone, and try before the king heard that Giles had obeyed his conscience in deciding to support the church in its quarrel with the king over the election of the new Archbishop of Canterbury. Having read, in Hereford Cathedral, the papal interdict suspending church services throughout the kingdom, Giles had prudently followed the example of the other bishops, who had defied the king and fled to France.

The king was in council at Gloucester Castle, and it was with a profound feeling of foreboding that Matilda relinquished her mare to the esquire who ran forward to help her dismount and preceded William Ferrers and Adam into the great hall. John was, it appeared, busy and could or would not receive them at once, so, her heart pounding nervously, Matilda took the carved oak chair to which John’s chamberlain had shown her and sat down nervously, clutching her mantle around her and glancing up at Adam, who, resting an arm protectively on the back of the chair, stood close beside her. Ferrers, less in awe than the others, went off cheerfully in search of refreshment.

She closed her eyes and leaned her head back for a moment, feeling the heavily carved ornamental wood press into the back of her skull.

Her courage, for the first time, was beginning to fail her. What if the king should refuse to grant her an audience? What if he refused her plea? What if he refused to see William and persevered with his plan to bring him, and thus the whole family with him, to ruin? She shivered a little in spite of the warm furs around her shoulders.

They waited a long, long time in the great hall, watching the busy throng who were gathered there. From time to time men passed into the presence chamber to see the king and reappeared again, but no one came to call the de Braose party.

Cold night had settled in outside. Through the ever-reopening outside door Matilda could see the swirling mist and the white haloes around the burning torches as men moved back and forth across her line of vision. More branches were heaped on the two huge fires, and aromatic smoke escaped now and then in puffs that hung beneath the high beams of the roof.

And then the door opened again and a party of men were hurried out. The usher approached the chamberlain and whispered, and the man turned and began to walk purposefully in Matilda’s direction.

She sat without moving, watching his stately progress down the hall, only the whitening of her knuckles, as her fingers clutched unconsciously together, showing the turmoil inside her.

Then he was before her. He bowed. “His Grace will see the Lady of Hay,” he stated gravely. “He does not wish to see you, sir, nor you, my lord.” He nodded at Adam and Ferrers in turn and then, without looking to see if she followed, he slowly retraced his steps down the length of the great hall.

John surveyed her for a long while without speaking and then, with a snap of his fingers, dismissed the clerks and attendants crowding the room and watching the tall, graceful woman who curtsied before her king.

He waited until the door had closed behind the last bowing figure and then he leaned back in his chair and smiled. “I wonder if I can guess what brings the Lady Matilda to Gloucester?”

She lowered her eyes. “Your Grace is probably aware of my predicament. I would not presume on our long friendship if I had not thought you might grant my request.” Glancing up, she saw something akin to amusement in his face and, taking courage, she smiled. “Please see William once more, Your Grace. Give him a chance to explain to you our temporary difficulties in raising so much money so fast. We will pay. But please, give us time, Your Grace. And please smile once again on William. He is so fond of you, so devoted to your service. You have broken his heart with your disfavor-” She broke off, seeing the black frown that, at the mention of William’s name, succeeded the look of humor.

“William, my lady, is a fool,” he snapped. “He preens and crows under my favor and amasses fortunes and lordships all on credit, and then when I seek to realize some of my debts, he fawns and whines like a kicked dog.” He leaned forward in his chair, his blue eyes suddenly flashing. “God’s teeth, Matilda. I made your Sir William. From a petty border baron I raised him to one of the greatest in this land. And I can reduce him again as quickly.” He smashed his fist against the palm of his hand.

Matilda shuddered.

“Your husband, madam, was becoming too ambitious, too powerful,” he went on. “I smell treachery there.”

Matilda gasped indignantly. “Your Grace, that’s not true! William is a loyal servant. And he is your friend.”

Rising, John stepped off the low dais on which his chair was placed and, throwing one leg over the corner of the table, rested there, his arms folded.

“He sought alliance with the rebellious lords of Ireland, my lady. Lords who have defied my justiciar there. They complained when he took Limerick from your son-in-law. Do you know why I took it?” He stared at her intently. “I took it because no dues have been received from William. The Earl Marshall was at court this winter pleading the cause of the Irish lords. You did not know, perhaps, that I have reinstated them now in their land in exchange for a pledge of loyalty. Yes, Walter de Lacy too. But my benevolence does not extend to your Sir William. He has driven me too far with his greed. God’s blood! He even covets an earldom!”

Matilda bit her lip and then nodded reluctantly. “There is no treachery in that, Your Grace.”

“Perhaps not.” John was thoughtful. “Nevertheless, I prefer men about me who serve me out of loyalty. I mistrust ambition.” He snorted. “A quality you did not display when you had it in your power to take a prince for a lover, though you did feel able to give your favors to a mere earl.” His eyes, deliberately insolent, slid up and down her body and she reddened violently.

“I am an elderly matron now, sire. Too old, I think, for such adventures,” she stammered.

John laughed again and, pushing himself up from the table, came and stood close to her. Slowly he raised his hand and touched her cheek. “You scarcely look a day older, my dear, for all your little Welsh princeling grandchildren.” He paused. “Is that what you have come for? Did you hope to seduce me into waiving your husband’s debts?” For a moment their eyes met. She saw the challenge in his gaze and something else-something that was veiled so quickly behind the hard, enigmatic stare that she wondered if she had glimpsed it at all.

She took a step back, feeling the heat mount in her cheeks again. The interview was not going the way she had intended. “I came here to ask delay from Your Grace for the sake of the friendship you once had for us both, no more than that, sire,” she said with quiet dignity.

John turned away abruptly. “Very well. I will give him another chance. For your sake. But I will require substantial proof of his intentions. Castles, hostages.” He spoke curtly.

“Hostages!” Matilda repeated indignantly. “Why hostages? Is our word not good enough?”

“William’s isn’t.” He threw the remark over his shoulder as he returned to his chair and lowered himself into it.

“Then mine, my lord. There should be no need of hostages.”

“Oh, come, Matilda, it is customary. Are you afraid I might demand your own fair self?” He smiled. “I’m sure we can take someone you won’t miss too much! Tell your husband to come to me the day after tomorrow at Hereford. I will hear his excuses then. But never again. This is his last chance to convince me he can work something out. His last chance.”

With a gesture he dismissed her. Then as she curtsied and turned toward the door he called out. “By the way, my lady. I have no doubt you have heard that following the papal interdict I am confiscating all church property for the use of the crown. I understand there are substantial properties waiting for me in Hereford. Episcopal properties.”

Matilda swallowed, nervously holding her breath.

“You must admit, my lady”-his voice was as smooth as a cat’s purr-“that I have grounds for scenting treachery within the de Braose family. Very good grounds.”

When William returned to the Hay from his meeting with the king three days later, it seemed that all had gone well. He strode into the hall, where most of the household were gathered for the noonday meal. At his side were two of the king’s officers.

Matilda laid down her napkin and rose to her feet, anxiously scanning her husband’s face for signs of worry or anger. He met her eyes and then glanced down, swallowing nervously.

“Father, what happened? What did the king say?” Will was around the table and off the dais in a moment, confronting his father. There was silence in the great hall. At the high table all eyes were fixed on William and at the lower tables where other members of his household ate; men and women alike waited with bated breath for their lord to speak. The only sound came from the fires, where logs hissed and crackled between the great iron dogs and from behind the serving screens at the back of the hall, where a hastily suppressed giggle rang out in the silence.

“We have reached an agreement.” William spoke at last. Matilda saw him swallow again and she felt a tremor of unease. Silently they waited for him to go on.

“The king has agreed that I can spread the payments of my debts over several years,” he continued, and then, as if conscious for the first time of the watching eyes from the depths of the hall, he stepped onto the dais, lowering his voice. “The king has requested one or two guarantees that I will pay.” He glanced over his shoulder at the waiting officers and then turned back, refusing to meet Matilda’s gaze. Full of misgivings, she slowly seated herself once more, forcing herself to stay calm.

“What guarantee does the king demand, William?” She reached slowly for her goblet, keeping her voice slow and steady with an effort.

“I have agreed that he take all my Welsh lands and castles into the royal holding, just until I pay. He has already sent constables to take them over-all but Hay, which he said was more yours.” He frowned. “And then…” Once more he looked at the floor, his voice trailing away uncertainly as a gasp of horror went around the high table.

“ And , William?” Matilda could feel Reginald beside her holding his breath. She put her hand gently over his on the table. Before them the plate of meat congealed in a pool of cooling fat.

“And I agreed that we should give him hostages, Moll. Many, many other families have been asked to do the same. It’s not just us.” He hesitated. “He wants Will, and our two grandsons, little John, and Isobel’s son, baby Ralph-”

“ No! ” Will sprang to face his father, his face white with fury. “You would dare to hand babes over to the king! Ralph is only three days old, for God’s sake! How did the king know Isobel had come here from Wigmore? How did he know Ralph even existed?” He turned and glared accusingly at his mother, but William interrupted.

“No, Will, not your mother. I told him. I had to offer more surety. He would not give me the time to pay otherwise. I had to have time. I thought he was going to arrest me.” His eyes were fixed at last on his wife’s face.

Slowly she stood up. So John had been mocking her all along, lying when he said he would demand no one of importance to her. After pushing back her chair, she walked behind the others seated at the table and came around to the edge of the dais. Her eyes were hard as she turned to the king’s officers standing side by side below the step. “If the king requires hostages he shall have them,” she stated flatly. “I will give myself if necessary, but I would deliver none- none of my sons to the king, you can tell him that. If he asks why, remind him of his promise to me and tell him that perhaps he should think of the honorable way he treated his brother’s child, his own nephew Arthur, then he will know why I would not trust him with my sons!”

“Matilda!” William broke in, scandalized. “You mustn’t mention that. It is not supposed to be known! I swore to keep it a secret!”

Matilda turned her blazing eyes on her husband. “I think it is as well that the king should know that his people realize what has been going on. I wouldn’t trust him with any of my family. He let me believe he would ask for no hostages of importance and then he does this.”

William hastily stepped from the dais. He put his hand on the shoulder of one of the king’s officers. “Tell the king I’m sorry. Tell him I’m still ready to make good.” He hesitated. “But without hostages. I’ll go before his court and whichever barons he chooses…Make no mention of anything my wife said. Please. She was overwrought.”

The king was told, however, word for word, what Matilda had said.

He reacted with an outbreak of unprecedented fury, followed by the issue of orders that William and Matilda and their entire family should be arrested without delay. Appalled, Matilda listened to the breathless, garbled warnings as she stood with Earl Ferrers in the bailey at Hay as a messenger from Hereford flung himself off his lathered horse at her feet, gesticulating wildly behind him, tripping over his words in his haste.

Matilda went cold with terror as she understood at last that the king was sending men to arrest them. “You must leave,” she said to the young earl urgently. “Leave quickly. This is our quarrel. You’re not involved and there’s no need for you to get on the wrong side of the king.”

Ferrers had gone quite pale. He scrambled hastily onto the horse that his esquire had brought him ready for a hawking trip, and sat for a moment looking down at Matilda. “If there’s anything I can do, I will. You know that.”

“I know.” She smiled tautly. “Now ride quickly. I want those gates closed.”

She watched with a frown as the young man galloped out, not pausing even to summon his attendants, save for the astonished esquire who had time only to throw himself across his own unsaddled gelding and pelt after his young master. Then slowly-too slowly, it seemed to Matilda-the great gates swung to behind him. With a hammering heart she beckoned the messenger and sent to find her husband.

“What shall we do?” William looked from one to the other of his sons. “It’s all your fault, you stupid woman.” He turned on Matilda. “Why could you not have kept your mouth shut? Now the king will never forgive us! We are all doomed. It is the end.”

“She did right, Father.” Reginald’s was the only calm voice among them. “You should not have allowed the king to demand our children. If you had failed to pay, he might have-” Seeing Mattie’s face as she held little John in her arms, he broke off abruptly. The whole family was congregated around the fire in the solar. Will stood behind his wife, his hands gently on her shoulders. Only Isobel was missing, still in bed after the birth of her baby. No one had told her that her little Ralph had been demanded as hostage.

“There’s nothing left for it but to fight him.” Reginald spoke again. “You’ve nothing to lose, Father, and a lot to gain if you win. That way you could demand exemption from the debt altogether, or at least time to pay on your own terms.”

“No, Reginald!” Adam de Porter’s quiet voice cut him short. “You must not fight the king. Your father must demand a fair hearing and I think your mother should ask the king’s pardon for her rash remark. You must all throw yourselves on the king’s mercy. To fight him would be treason.”

It was Matilda’s turn to be furious. She faced him. “Never. Never will we throw ourselves on John’s mercy, nor appeal to his honor. He doesn’t know the meaning of the word.”

“Reginald is right, you know, Father.” Will spoke at last. “We should fight. Things have gone too far now. You reclaim your rights and territories and repay the debt as and when you can and then the king will have no more complaint against you. And Mother must never apologize to the king. That would be unthinkable.” His eyes strayed to his mother’s face and for a moment they held one another’s gaze. Matilda looked away first.

There was a knock outside. The door opened before anyone answered and Stephen the steward appeared, a worried frown on his lined face. “The king’s men are at the gates, my lord, demanding entry. They have warrants.”

“They are not to come in.” William slammed his fist on the table. “Pour some slops on their heads if they dare to try. Tell them to go back to the king and tell him that William de Braose will fight him first.”

“ No! William!” Adam put his hand on his brother-in-law’s arm but William shook it off angrily.

“Yes! I have had enough of going in fear, begging and cringing. Tell them that, steward. De Braose will fight!”

The king’s messengers rode away without much argument, but it was obvious they would soon return with reinforcements.

Adam left as soon as the coast was clear. “I cannot agree with what you’re doing, William. It’s treason,” he said before he rode away. “You must ask the king’s pardon and submit to him.” But William would not listen. The days of fear and pleading were over. With his family behind him at last, he felt confident he could repair his self-esteem. When a detachment of the king’s troops arrived at Hay to try to carry out the arrests, he repelled them with something like a grim good humor, hurling insults after them when three days later they rode away to the east.

Nick jerked upright in his chair. So they thought they could fight him, the fools! How could de Braose be so arrogant; how could she be so proud, so stubborn…

He stared around, disoriented. The others were sitting in silence, each deep in his own thoughts, Jo gazing blankly out into the darkness.

“Are you all right, Nick?” Ben leaned forward and touched his arm.

Nick forced himself to smile. On the table, the candle had burned so low the wick floated in a small pool of liquid wax. “Sorry.” He took a deep breath. “I must have been asleep. I’m a bit jet-lagged, I suppose.”

“And tired. It is midnight, after all. Come on.” Ben stood up. “I’ll show you where you can sleep.”

Nick rose to his feet unsteadily, still grasping for reality. He hesitated for a moment then he dropped a kiss on Jo’s forehead. “Good night,” he murmured.

Jo and Ann watched him follow Ben into the house. Then Ann got up.

“We’re putting him in the apple loft, Jo. It makes a lovely bedroom in the summer. Unless you want to sleep together?”

Sitting down on the edge of his bed, Ben wearily pulled off his socks. “I’ll never be able to get up for milking.” He groaned.

Ann grinned. “Go on. You always say you only need two hours’ sleep.”

“I do. But they’ve got to be the right two hours, and that’s about ten o’clock.” He stood up and began to take off his trousers. “What do you make of the boyfriend?”

Ann had been brushing her hair. Her hand stopped in midstroke. “He frightens me.”

“Frightens you?” Ben repeated incredulously. “I thought he was a decent sort. Very decent. And they obviously love each other. Once they’ve got this peculiar business settled, they’ll be fine.”

Ann shook her head slowly. “It’s not as easy as that, Ben. I told Nick there was no way he could have been given posthypnotic suggestions to make him hurt Jo or do anything he didn’t want to, but that wasn’t strictly true. If his brother is anything like as clever as I think he is, he will have found a way around Nick’s natural inhibitions easily. Nick and Jo have reason to be afraid, Ben. I think he has planted posthypnotic suggestions in both their minds. I think he is playing them against each other for some reason I cannot even begin to guess, and he’s so sure they’ll work he can brag about them to Nick.” She shivered suddenly. “The awful thing is, I think they might work all too well, whatever they are.”

Ann couldn’t sleep. For more than an hour she tossed and turned beside Ben, who always slept at once, flat on his back, relaxed and seemingly dreamless, then she got up. She pulled on a silk kimono over her cotton nightgown and tiptoed out of the room. The children were sleeping soundlessly in their bedroom beneath the sloping roof. Bill, who still slept like a baby, on his back, his arms above his head; Polly curled in the fetal position, her thumb firmly plugged into her mouth, the two golden heads still and angelic. She crept out of the room and closed the door silently.

The kitchen was still hot from the woodburning stove. She lit a lamp then opened the door of the firebox quietly and threw in a log. It would be nice to have hot water for the morning. Often in the summer she didn’t bother…

“There wouldn’t be a chance of a cup of tea, would there?” The voice from the end of the dark sitting room made her jump nearly out of her skin.

Nick rose from the shadows and came toward her.

“Of course.” She glanced at him curiously. He was wearing a pair of faded jeans. His top was bare, as were his feet.

“Sorry if I frightened you. I think I’m too tired to sleep. My brain is whirling in ever-decreasing circles.” He perched on a stool at the edge of the lamplight. “I took off my watch. Do you know what time it is?”

“After three.” Ann filled the kettle and put it on the stove. “It’ll take a while to boil. The fire was nearly down.”

“I want you to hypnotize me, Ann.” Nick leaned forward suddenly. He reached out a hand toward her. “I must find out the truth. Please.”

“Are you sure you want to know the truth?” She surveyed him solemnly. Then almost without knowing she had done it she took his hand. She squeezed it lightly and then drew away.

He nodded. “If Sam has planted any ideas in my head I want you to find out what they are and kill them, do you understand?”

“Nick.” She began to pace up and down the floor slowly, her arms folded, her bare feet kicking the silk of the kimono into a rhythmic billowing pattern over the stone flags. “There are things you must understand. Posthypnotic suggestion-if that is what we are discussing-is a strange and inexact science. I don’t know what your brother might have suggested. Neither do I know what safeguards and conditions he may have imposed.”

“He has suggested that I was King John of England in a previous life. He has suggested that as John I was in love with Matilda de Braose. I think he has suggested that I killed her-or ordered her death-because she rejected me, and I think he has suggested I kill Jo as some sort of crazy revenge.” He took a deep breath. “Did Jo tell you that I have already hurt her? Twice.”

Ann sucked in her breath. “No, she didn’t tell me that.” She stared at him: at the handsome, strong face, the determined chin, the firm blue eyes beneath straight brows, the broad muscular shoulders of a sportsman, strong arms, slim hips. She closed her eyes. He was unquestionably a strong man. A man who could easily overpower any woman if he chose. And he was an attractive man. Very attractive…She saw the slight smile on his lips and dragged her eyes away from him quickly. Christ! She was supposed to be the hypnotist! She shivered again.

She moistened her lips with the tip of her tongue. “Yes,” she said, “I’ll try.”

Quietly Sam let himself back into Nick’s apartment. He put his bag down in the hall and stood still, listening. There was no sound. Even the noise of traffic was silent at this hour, the occasional cars in Park Lane muffled by the closed windows. He walked quietly forward and peered into Nick’s bedroom. It was empty, as he had known it would be. A quiet check on the other rooms proved Nick wasn’t there either. Smiling to himself, he switched on the lamp in the living room and walked over to the windows. For a moment he stood still, staring at his own dark reflection in the glass, thrown into relief by the single bulb, then he reached up and drew the curtains together with a sharp rattle. He turned and looked around.

It was a large rectangular room, the polished wood floor carpeted with brightly colored rugs. The walls were covered with paintings and drawings-one of them a sketch of Jo. Sam stood in front of it for a moment, considering it. It wasn’t good. It did not do her justice.

Behind him the phone rang. He turned and looked at it, then he glanced at his watch. It was four in the morning.

He picked up the receiver.

“Nick? Thank God, I thought you might have gone away for the weekend.” Sam said nothing. He was smiling faintly.

“Nick? Nick, are you there?” Judy’s voice rose hysterically. “Nick, did you find Jo? Pete and I have just been over at Tim Heacham’s and he was saying the craziest things. He was doped up to the eyeballs, but he said Jo really was going to die and none of us could do anything about it- Nick! ”

“Nick isn’t here, my sweet.” Sam sat down on the deep armchair and cradled the receiver against his left ear. “I’m sorry. You must have missed him.”

There was a breathless silence. Then she whispered, “Sam?”

“The very same. How are you, Judith?”

“Where is Nick?” She ignored his question.

“I have no idea. I am not, as someone once said, my brother’s keeper.” He rested his feet on the coffee table.

“And Jo? Is Jo all right?”

“Do you really care?” His tone was scathing. “Stop being a hypocrite, Judith. It is only days since you were fulminating against Ms. Clifford with all the somewhat limited invective at your command. I have told you Jo has nothing to do with you. Go back to your paparazzi boyfriend and mind your own business.”

He put down the receiver with almost delicate care before standing up and strolling out to the hall. He picked up his bag and, dropping it on the bed in the spare room, threw back the lid. He had not turned on the lights. Outside the first tentative notes of a blackbird whistled over the rooftops, echoing in the silence of the huge courtyard at the back of the apartment block. Sam slipped his hand into the side pocket of the bag and drew something out. He carried it to the window and held it up to the gray dawn light. It was a carved ivory crucifix.

“I’m sorry, Nick.” Ann threw herself back into the chair wearily and closed her eyes. “I’ve used every technique I know. It’s not going to work.”

“It’s got to work!” Nick clenched his fists. “Please, try again.”

“No. It’s no use.” She stood up. “Look, it’s nearly dawn. We’re both exhausted and, as you said, you’re probably suffering from jet lag. Why don’t we get some sleep? We can try again tomorrow.”

“Tomorrow might be too late.” Nick reached forward and caught Ann’s wrist. “Don’t you realize that? Please, just once more. Then, if it doesn’t work, we’ll give up.”

Ann sat down on the edge of the coffee table facing him. “You’re too tense, Nick. You’re fighting me and I don’t have the experience to get round that.”

“Have you got some tranquilizers or something I could take?”

She laughed. “In this house? Ben would divorce me if I took anything stronger than feverfew tea for my migraine!” She sighed. “Look, I’ll try once more. Sit back, put your feet up, and relax. I’ll go and make that tea we’ve been waiting for and I’ll put a slug of brandy in it. Try to unwind, Nick. Close your eyes. Let your mind go blank.”

She stood looking down at him for a moment, surprised by the sudden surge of almost maternal affection she felt for the man lying so helplessly before her. Quickly she turned away.

She made two cups of tea and poured a double measure of brandy in each, then she carried them back to their chairs.

“There, that should do the trick.” Sitting down opposite him again, she slid the cups onto the coffee table.

“Nick?”

His head had fallen sideways on the patchwork cushion. Gently she touched his hand. There was no response.

With a sigh she took the woven blanket from the sofa and drew it over him, then, after turning down the lamp, she blew out the flame. The room was no longer dark. The still, eerie, predawn light was filtering in between the curtains. She drew one back silently and stood, sipping her tea, looking at the dim, colorless garden and the white cauldron of luminous mist beyond them in the valley. Suddenly she shivered violently.

She turned and looked at Nick.

Whatever devil he was going to have to fight inside himself, she was not going to be able to help him. He and Jo were going to have to face it on their own.