Barbara Erskine - Lady of Hay

There she hesitated, looking around her, her hair blowing in the wind. There was no sign of Jo. To the right rose the King’s Tower and all that remained of the main castle. To the left a second area of grass formed the west bailey, surrounded by gray stone walls, at the far western end of which stood the bare remains of the Butavant Tower. She walked on slowly, and hesitated. Then, turning left, she peered around the end of a wall. Jo was sitting there on the short, damp grass.

Ann let out a little sob of relief. She ran toward her, stopping six feet away from her.

“Jo?”

Jo did not turn. She was staring in front of her, her hands hanging loosely between her knees, her hair blowing in the southwesterly wind. Her hands were bruised and bleeding, her nails torn.

Ann stared at them in silent horror. “Jo, are you all right?” Crouching beside her, Ann gently touched her shoulder. There was no response. Jo’s skin was cold.

Behind them two men and a woman, cameras slung around their shoulders, had appeared through the Martyr’s Gate. Slowly, enjoying themselves, they turned away up toward the remains of the keep. The sound of laughter echoed through the bright, windy air.

***

When Bennet and Nick arrived they were both still sitting there on the swiftly drying grass. The tourists had come past them, stared surreptitiously, and gone. Ann held Jo’s hand gently. She could make no contact, get no reaction at all from the empty shell that was Jo. Once or twice she took her pulse. Each time it was weaker.

Bennet sat down next to them. “How is she?” he murmured.

Ann shook her head. “I can’t get through to her. She blinks. When I lift her hand it falls naturally. Her eyes are quite normal, look. But she is completely cold.”

Nick was staring round at the ruins of the castle. He was full of pent-up anger as he glanced back at Jo.

Bennet had opened the small case he had brought from the back of the Mercedes and was rummaging in a drawer, but suddenly Nick was beside him. He put a restraining hand on Bennet’s wrist. “No more drugs,” he said.

“Nicholas, I must.”

“No. Leave her to me. Please.”

Ann scrambled stiffly to her feet and backed away. Reluctantly Bennet followed suit. Both were watching Jo’s face.

Nick stooped and caught her shoulders, pulling her to her feet. “Stand up. Do you hear me? Stand up. Don’t give in. Fight.” He shook her hard so that her head snapped back and forth as she sagged toward him.

Bennet took a protesting step forward, but Ann put her hand on his arm. “Wait,” she whispered.

“Fight it. Live. I want you to live. Do you know who I am?” He held her hard in front of him.

Slowly and painfully Jo focused on his face.

“I want you to live. Come back to me. Do you hear me, Jo? It is all over!”

***

Darkness and pain were swirling in her head, dragging her down into the earth. Blackness, sleep, escape. Peace. She did not want to return. She felt no anger. Only regret; regret for the sun and the sky and laughter that was behind her. Soft eternal blackness waited. Blackness where her son was already at peace…

She did not want to come back. A second chance. A reprieve; the sun blazing down from behind the high towers of white stone. She put her hands up to her eyes, but he caught her wrists and pulled them away, the man who had been her king. His eyes were full of compassion now. He was ordering her back. Her life was not being demanded. The body in her arms was dissolving, fading into the mist. There was a new life inside her waiting to be born. She had to come back. She had to obey, to give him the chance to atone…

***

“Jo?” Nick was willing her back to life. “Jo, can you hear me?”

There was a very slight change in her now. He couldn’t name it, but it was as if her resistance were weakening. She had changed her mind. She was going to return. “Jo, my darling, you’re going to make it.” He shook her again. “It’s all over, love. All over.”

She touched his jacket experimentally, as if testing the command she had over her fingers, and winced at the pain. “Over?” she repeated, dazed.

Behind them Ann and Carl Bennet exchanged glances. Ann was smiling, but there were tears in her eyes.

“It’s over,” Jo repeated slowly. “She died. Here, beneath this tower.”

“I know, love.”

“They took the bodies out of the oubliette after eleven days. They laid them in a single grave. Will was in her arms. They couldn’t separate them at the end. There was no cross, no stone. The king wanted to forget…”

“He never forgot, Jo. He never forgot.”

She extricated herself from his arms slowly and for half a second he moved to try to restrain her, then he stood back as she walked, shakily, across the grass to the crumbling wall behind them. “Here,” she whispered. “They are here, in the foundations of the wall. They threw them in the rubble and piled the stones on top of them.” Slowly she stooped, then, gently snapping off a stem of wild marjoram, she walked to the shadow of the wall and laid the flower on a shelf in the stone. For a moment she stood staring down at it, then she turned and began to walk back toward the shadowed entrance to the Martyr’s Gate.

Nick hesitated, then he followed her as she made her way slowly back down the lower ward and out across the bridge. The Mercedes was parked outside the pub. Bennet opened the rear door and obediently she climbed in, sitting back, her eyes closed. In silence Ann climbed in beside her and put her arm around her shoulders.

“She needs a brandy,” she said.

Bennet shook his head. “That’s the last thing this girl needs,” he said curtly, “on top of all that Valium. I’ve got some coffee in the back.”

***

Nick was standing uncertainly beside the car, watching as Jo clasped the mug of hot sweet coffee in her hands, sipping it. He glanced at Ann, then at Bennet. They were both preoccupied with Jo. Quietly he turned and began to retrace his steps into the castle.

Bennet looked around. For a moment he did not move. He frowned, then he handed the Thermos to Ann. “Take care of her,” he whispered. “I’ll be back in a moment.”

Nick was standing looking down at the spray of tiny mauve flowers lying in the shadow of the stone.

Her hair had been redder than Jo’s, her eyes a little greener perhaps. She had been so full of life, so graceful, so vivacious. And she had been broken by him.

“Forgive me.” He did not realize he had spoken aloud. Slowly he knelt in the wet grass in silence.

It was five full minutes before he rose slowly to his feet. Without looking back he turned and headed toward the cars. Bennet was waiting for him in the shadow of the huge stone gateway.

Suddenly noticing him, Nick stopped, looking embarrassed.

“I thought I was alone.”

Bennet smiled gravely as he fell in step beside him. “You were not alone,” he said. “Someone was listening. I think, for some reason, you have been given a second chance.”

Nick nodded. “I believe I have.”

***

In the back of the car Jo reached across and touched Nick’s hand. She was staring at the wet, muddied knees of his trousers. “Thank you,” she whispered.

He put his arm around her. “It’s finally over.” He pulled her against him.

“For them.” She gave him a shaky smile. “But what about for us?”

“For us it is the beginning. A new beginning.”

“And Sam?” she whispered.

“I don’t think Sam will come back.” His arms tightened around her. “And nor will Tim, Jo. They had a fight last night. Tim slipped and cracked his skull.” He hesitated, feeling her body tighten. “He’s dead, love.”

She tried to swallow her tears. “But why? Why Tim? He never hurt anyone.”

“It was an accident-”

“It wasn’t an accident,” she cried miserably. “Nothing has been an accident. It has all happened by design. Every single thing, from that first time I met Sam in Edinburgh. I should have known then. I should have recognized the danger.” Her voice rose. “It has all been Sam, hasn’t it? Every bit was staged by him. It wasn’t real. You weren’t King John. I wasn’t Matilda. He set the whole thing up. He’s been laughing at us all the time.”

Nick said nothing. He was gazing past her out of the car window, up at the silhouette of white stone against the brilliant blue of the sky.

He did not see the huge cracks in the masonry. He did not see the fallen slabs of stone or the weeds and the ivy. He was looking at the solid, newly built keep of a powerful great castle, with the three huge snarling leopards of England streaming in a blaze of red and gold from the topmost battlements.

He had been there before.

10 October 1216

Margaret de Lacy pushed back her hood and carefully straightened her gown, shaking off the rain. The roars of merriment from inside the dining hall showed the people of Lynn were enjoying the feast they had prepared for the king as he progressed through the eastern counties of his realm. She took a deep breath and nodded to the page at the door, who, having bitten her coin, had pocketed it cheerfully. He pushed it open with a flourish and winked at her. The hall was packed with people and noisy, but determinedly Margaret pushed her way toward the high table where the king was eating.

He did not notice her at first, raising his goblet to toast the fat sheriff. There had been supplicants on and off all evening and he was disposed to be benevolent. Then he turned and saw the woman who waited at his elbow, her green eyes fixed quietly on his face. Slowly his smile faded and he lowered his goblet. Sweat stood out on his brow and he wiped it with the back of his hand. Rising to his feet, he pushed back his chair with sudden violence. Silence fell over the table as curious faces watched on every side.