A Gift of Sanctuary Read Free Page A

difficult place for us.’
    Sir Robert smiled at Owen’s puzzled expression and nodded slightly, as if to warn him to desist. Which was good advice, though less satisfying than shocking the constable out of his complacency.
    ‘You have seen nothing of a contingent from Cydweli?’ Owen asked Tyler again. ‘Nor received a messenger?’
    Tyler shook his head. ‘Rivers swell this time of year. He may be delayed. But you will be in Cydweli soon, eh? Time enough. I have no spare archers to offer you in any case. Come now. My man will show you where you will rest your heads. And tonight we shall have a merry feast of it. I am eager to hear all the gossip of the realm.’ Tyler nodded at Brother Michaelo. ‘We would be grateful for a Mass while you are here, Father. It has been some time now since we lost our chaplain. The good bishop has been slow in sending us another.’
    Michaelo, who had closed his eyes and tucked his hands up his sleeves as soon as he had quenched his thirst, looking for all the world like a monk lost in prayer (to those who did not know him), frowned now at the constable. ‘Lost your chaplain? How?’
    ‘He tumbled down the crag trying to follow his hound.’
    Michaelo crossed himself. ‘Your chaplain had need of a hound’s protection?’
    ‘Nay, Father, he loved the hunt, he did.’
    Michaelo glanced at Owen. ‘I begin to see your point.’ To Tyler, he said, ‘Not “Father”, but “Brother”. I am not a priest.’
    Looking more uneasy by the moment about playing host to this party, the constable nodded and said briskly, ‘An honest mistake – Brother. God go with you gentlemen. You are most welcome here. My man will show you to your chambers now.’
    The travellers rose reluctantly, loath to part with the fire.
    ‘Watch where you step in the ward,’ Tyler’s man warned as they walked out into drizzle.
    It was good advice. The rock on which the castle sat crested here in the inner ward, rising in a shallow, uneven dome. No one apparently saw the need to chip it down and smooth it out. It was a small ward, and in less than a dozen steps they were climbing a stairway to the rooms in the east wall; they were given sleeping chambers on either side of the chapel – narrow, dark, damp and chilled by the wind that rose up the cliff and past the lime kiln, giving the air a chalky scent. But each room had a brazier, already lit, and the pallets were piled with blankets and skins.
    ‘Jumping with fleas, no doubt,’ Michaelo said as he lifted one gingerly. ‘The constable and his men smell like beasts in a stable.’
    ‘You expected courtiers?’ Geoffrey said with an exaggerated bow. ‘In an isolated outpost?’
    ‘A Mass. I am surprised they noticed their chaplain’s absence.’
    ‘Fighting men are ever concerned about their souls,’ Sir Robert said. ‘You will not notice their odour when they are saving your neck.’
    ‘You saved our necks with your softening of Owen’s tirade,’ Michaelo said. ‘I am eager to leave this wilderness and continue on to St David’s.’ The archbishop’s secretary was the only one in the group who had but a single purpose, to complete his pilgrimage to St David’s in a belated rush of penitence for a past sin. Though Sir Robert seemed the most earnest pilgrim he also hoped to help Owen and Geoffrey with what had been meant to be a secret aspect of their mission, ascertaining where the loyalties of the Welsh lay. Not that Owen had confided in his father-in-law, but Sir Robert was adept at feigning sleep in order to eavesdrop.
    ‘We will wait a few days for Reine,’ Owen said. Tyler was right. Just as they had been delayed by the wet weather, so might Reine and his men be delayed in their journey from Cydweli. ‘And so that we might enjoy peace in our party, I propose that Geoffrey and Michaelo share a room, and I sleep with Sir Robert,’ Owen said.
    Geoffrey thought it an excellent suggestion.
    Owen and Sir Robert moved on to the room opposite.