Edward Marston - The Hawks of Delamere

‘Gytha!’ he exclaimed.

‘Thank you for agreeing to see me.’

‘What are you doing here?’

‘I had to see you,’ she said.

‘Did you walk all the way to Chester?’

‘Yes.’

‘It will have taken an age. What time did you leave?’

‘Well before dawn.’

‘It must be important, then.’

‘I think it is.’

Several people were milling around the gate, arguing with the sentries and pleading to be let in. Gervase took her by the arm to move her away from the hubbub. When they paused in the doorway of a house, he was able to take a considered look at her. Flushed and exhausted, she still had an extraordinary resemblance to Alys. Gervase’s blood coursed and he was momentarily confused, not sure whether he was doting on his betrothed or showing an improper interest in a vulnerable young woman. Gytha’s embarrassment suggested that she, too, was grappling with warm feelings which caused her some concern.

‘How is your brother?’ he inquired.

‘He is better now that the funeral is over.’

‘Over? Already?’

‘Father Ernwin saw no reason to delay it.’

‘I applaud his wisdom.’

‘He has been very kind to us.’

‘Was it an ordeal for you?’

‘Yes.’

‘I am sorry I was not there to comfort you.’

She looked up at him. ‘So am I,’ she said softly, ‘but you have already done so much for us.’

‘I wish that I could have done more, Gytha.’

Their eyes locked and both felt the pull of attraction.

‘I am very grateful,’ she said at length. ‘We both are. Beollan and me. You had no obligation to help us.’

‘Yes, I did.’

‘Why?’

‘You were in distress.’

‘But we were complete strangers to you.’

‘It makes no difference.’

Their eyes met again but she was suddenly afraid of the intensity of his gaze and the surge of her emotions. She lowered her head shyly. Gervase wanted to reach out to console her but fought against the impulse, reminding himself that there was a narrow dividing line between offering comfort to a lovely young woman and deriving pleasure from any contact with her. He had pledged himself to Alys and knew that he had to resist the fleeting appeal of Gytha.

‘Why did you come?’ he asked.

‘To tell you the full story.’

‘Story?’

‘Of what happened in the forest the day that my father and brother were killed. I have talked to Beollan.’

‘He has spoken to me himself.’

‘But you did not hear the whole story,’ she said, ‘and I felt it important that you should. It may help. Besides …’

She raised her head to look at him once more.

‘Well?’

‘I wanted to see you again,’ she said simply.

‘I’m glad that you came.’ He touched her shoulder with his fingertips then became serious. ‘What did Beollan tell you?’

‘He saw an archer sneaking away in the forest.’

‘He caught a glimpse, he said.’

‘It was more than that. The archer ran within a few yards of him. Beollan had a close look.’

‘And?’

‘He misled you.’

‘Did he?’

‘What you believed he saw was a Welshman with a bow in his hand, making his escape through the trees.’

‘Yes,’ said Gervase. ‘That is what I assumed.’

‘Beollan held back one vital detail.’

‘What was that, Gytha?’

‘The archer was a woman.’

Birdsong rang through the Forest of Delamere to celebrate a bright and peaceful morning. Deer grazed safely, pigs were foraging eagerly and smaller animals were free to roam and nibble wherever they wished. Leaving her pony tethered, she walked leisurely through the undergrowth and let the sun play fitfully on her face as it poked its way through a fretwork of branches.

When she came to the edge of a clearing, she was more circumspect, pausing to make sure that all was well before emerging from cover.

The old woman was outside her hovel, trying to milk the fractious goat which was tied to a stake and cursing it aloud whenever it shifted its position again. Her visitor approached across the grass with a welcoming smile. When the old woman saw her, she gladly abandoned her chore and gave the goat a valedictory slap. The two friends spoke in Welsh.

‘Good morning!’ said the newcomer.

‘It is good to see you again.’

‘No problems, I hope?’

‘None, Eiluned.’

‘I am glad. I would hate to have put you in danger.’

‘Do not fear for me,’ said the old woman. ‘I have learned to look after myself.’

‘I know.’

‘What about you, Eiluned?’

‘I got back safely. They were very pleased.’

‘You are a brave girl.’

Eiluned smiled. She was a stocky young woman with dark brown hair and eyes of a matching hue. Her face was pleasant rather than pretty and her attire was plain. There was a quiet determination in her manner and she neither spoke nor moved like a woman seeking the admiration of men.

She glanced across at the half-made basket which stood outside the cottage. A low stool was set beside it.

‘What did you do with my basket?’ she asked.

The old woman grinned. ‘I threw it away.’

‘Was it so bad?’

‘You would never be able to sell such poor workmanship.’

‘I would never be able to finish the basket in the first place,’

said Eiluned. ‘After a couple of hours, my fingers were aching. It is more difficult than it looks. I was grateful when the soldiers finally came and went. Then I was able to put the basket aside.’

‘It served its purpose.’

‘Very well.’

The old woman led the way into her fetid hovel. It was a wooden hut with a thatched roof in need of repair and a sunken floor.

The small window admitted scant light and air. A few mean sticks of furniture stood around. The old woman waddled across to the rough mattress on the floor and knelt down beside it. She groped around in the straw on which the mattress was laid and pulled out a bow. Taking it from her, Eiluned stroked the weapon fondly then helped her companion up from the floor.

‘No arrows?’ said the old woman.

‘I shot the only two I needed.’

‘You must have been sure of your aim.’

‘My father taught me well,’ said Eiluned, pleased to have the bow in her hands again. ‘He brought me up as the son he never had. Other girls learned to cook, sew and make baskets. I practised with a dagger and a bow.’ Her jaw tightened. ‘I am glad that my skills can be put to such good use. Had he lived, my father would have been proud of me.’

She came out into the fresh air again and inhaled deeply.

‘What will happen now?’ asked the other, following her out.

‘I cannot tell you.’

‘Why not?’

‘The less you know, the better for all of us.’

‘If you say so.’

‘I do.’ She gave the old woman a brief hug. ‘Thank you again for your help. You saved my life. I will not forget.’

‘Goodbye, Eiluned.’

‘Goodbye.’

‘Will you come again?’

‘No.’

‘I am always ready.’

‘We will not put you in such danger again.’

Eiluned walked to the edge of the clearing and turned.

‘Good luck!’ called the old woman.

‘We may need it,’ murmured the other. With a farewell wave, she darted swiftly off into the trees and was soon lost from sight.

Ralph Delchard took a long time to get used to the notion.

‘A female archer!’ he exclaimed. ‘Never!’

‘That is what the boy saw,’ said Gervase.

‘It is what he thought he saw. But how much credence can we place on the word of a frightened lad? He was in a panic when he fled from the others in the forest. He would have been too terrified to notice anything.’