Owen had meant to keep his counsel, but this rotten-toothed man with his foul-smelling breath and rude manner was more than he could bear. ‘You look equally unsavoury to my people, Constable. And as you were never invited into our land, I cannot see why you would expect courteous co-operation. But no, I do not take it amiss, for I am sure that rather than thinking for yourself you merely echo the opinion of others.’
The constable nodded towards Geoffrey as if to say, ‘You see what I mean about them?’
‘My son-in-law is testy after breaking up countless disputes between myself and Brother Michaelo,’ Sir Robert said. ‘But we cannot deny that we English arrived uninvited and robbed the people of their sovereignty.’ Sir Robert raised his hand as the constable opened his mouth to protest. ‘I say this not for the sake of argument, but rather to understand. Is that why your numbers here at Carreg Cennen have swelled? Because you expect the Welsh to turn traitor to us if the French get this far?’
Looking slightly frazzled by the shifting mood of the group, Tyler replied to Sir Robert. ‘Oh aye. This has ever been 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. As soon as the door was closed, Owen expressed his surprise at the last part of Sir Robert’s comment to the constable, that there had been some truth in what Owen had said about the English and the Welsh.
As his father-in-law eased down on to the side of the cot closest to the lit brazier, he glanced at Owen with a fierce scowl that was not that of a man who considered himself complimented. ‘You have listened too long to my daughter, who believes soldiering robbed me of any ability to contemplate mankind’s state.’ Sir Robert’s voice was a weary whisper, but his expression kept Owen from interrupting to offer him comfort. ‘I have noticed much that has dismayed me about the treatment of the folk as we have journeyed into Wales. I do not, however, believe it wise to express one’s views too openly. You have come here as Lancaster’s man. It is not your place to criticise his actions.’
‘You are right.’
‘You made us all uneasy.’
‘That was not my purpose. I wished only to make Tyler uneasy.’
‘Which you did. Is that wise? If there is trouble, we might depend upon him for our safety. I hardly think your people, as you call them, would consider you one of them while wearing the Duke’s livery and a Norman beard.’
‘I am neither one of them nor one of you, aye. So it will ever be for me.’
Sir Robert looked surprised. ‘You are one of us, Owen.’
A few weeks earlier Owen might have agreed. He had truly begun to believe he belonged in York. But this journey was making him feel more and more exiled. ‘Come. Let me help you off with your boots so you might rest before we sup.’
‘You have come far, my son. Have a care. That is all I ask.’
Owen and Geoffrey sat up in the hall after the others had retired for the night. Neither was eager to go to his room until his sleeping companion slept peacefully.
Geoffrey sat back, contentedly patting his stomach. ‘This may be an isolated pile of rock, but such food! I shall be sad to leave this table.’ His legs stuck out comically, the chair oddly constructed, too deep for his short legs.
Will Tyler did manage to feed his men well, stews generously meaty and fatty, breads hearty and fresh, and seemingly unlimited ale. It was a wonder more of the castle’s inhabitants had not shared the fate of the chaplain. ‘I should think you would find this food simple compared to that at court,’ Owen said.
Geoffrey wrinkled his nose. ‘I am ever suspicious of a heavily spiced dish — what sins are hidden with such effort, eh? Now your lord, His Grace the archbishop, he knows the value of fresh, simple foods.’
‘I would thank you not to call him my lord.’
Geoffrey studied Owen silently for a moment. ‘Forgive me. And the constable made you Lancaster’s man.’
‘Do I look anyone’s man but my own?’
‘Everyone is someone’s,’ Geoffrey said, smiling at Owen’s growl. ‘And you were fortunate enough to have a choice, so they tell me.’