Sleeper’s Castle

  ‘That’s what I’m here for. And is that your gardener outside? Who’s paying for him?’

  ‘Gardener?’ Andy looked, startled, at the window.

  ‘Tall, devilishly attractive man, carrying a spade over his shoulder.’

  Andy suppressed a smile. ‘Bryn. That’s him.’

  ‘So, you had noticed he’s attractive?’ Her mother raised a quirky eyebrow.

  ‘Not till you said it just now,’ Andy protested. ‘I actually find him rude and unpleasant. He doesn’t like the look of me either, so I’m avoiding him.’ She bit her lip. ‘And you’re parked in his space so he’ll be even more rude and unpleasant. I wonder where he’s left his van. I don’t suppose there’s room for three out there.’

  ‘Perhaps he walked. It is a lovely day. Where does he live?’

  Andy was silent while she thought. ‘Do you know, I haven’t a clue. I don’t even know his surname.’

  Nina pulled a face. ‘I don’t much like the idea of someone like that wandering round the garden up here with you when you’re alone.’

  ‘Don’t be silly! I may not know him, but Sue obviously does. And so do my neighbours, so there’s nothing to worry about. And for goodness’ sake don’t rush out there and antagonise him or he will walk out on me and I’ll be left in the most awful hole!’

  ‘Literally,’ her mother commented with grim humour. ‘I won’t say a word, darling. But asking him about how he expects to be paid will give you an excuse to go out and have a word with him. Why not take him a coffee?’

  ‘I offered before and he said no.’

  ‘He might not say no this time.’ Nina was in management mode. She stood up, reached for a clean mug. ‘Does he look like a man who takes sugar? No. I would say not.’ She pushed the mug towards Andy. ‘Go.’

  It wasn’t worth arguing. Andy pulled open the door and walked out into the wind and sunshine. ‘Bryn?’ He was pruning a hedge on the far side of the nearest bed to the house. She walked towards him and pushed the mug into his hands without giving him the chance to refuse. ‘I’m sorry if my mother is parked in your space. We weren’t expecting you. I have no way of knowing which days you come unless you tell me.’

  He stared at her as if debating whether to reply or walk off, then he cupped his gloved hands round the mug and blew on it. ‘I don’t have a regular day. I come when the weather is right,’ he said. ‘If that bothers you, we can arrange something I suppose.’

  ‘Do you garden for other people round here?’ Andy asked curiously. ‘Is that the way you work it out with them?’

  He nodded. He took a sip from the mug. ‘I work two or three days for Sue, then two days for Colonel Vaughan up at Tregarron Farm and one for the Peters on the far side of Capel-y-ffin. None of them mind when I turn up.’

  ‘Then I don’t either.’ Andy ventured a tentative smile. ‘I was just worried about your parking.’

  ‘There’s plenty of room, no problem. If people park carefully.’ Draining the mug, he handed it back to her. ‘Thank you.’

  ‘It’s a pleasure.’ She turned away then remembered. ‘By the way, I’m not sure what the arrangement is about paying you?’

  ‘Don’t worry about that either. Sue pays me by direct debit.’

  She laughed. ‘I might have known she would be efficient. Good, I’m glad that’s all taken care of.’

  ‘So you should be. I’m expensive.’ He almost smiled, then he turned back to the pruning.

  ‘There,’ Nina said as she went back indoors. ‘That didn’t seem to hurt too much.’

  Andy sat down at the table. ‘No. Not too much. Sue pays him by direct debit.’ She couldn’t contain another peal of laughter. ‘He’s probably a limited company!’

  Catrin enjoyed that summer more than she would have thought possible. They had moved on as soon as the horse was sound, riding slowly and carefully now, sometimes through gentle well-tended farmland, sometimes through wilder hills, each evening stopping at a farm or manor house or a castle, sometimes moving on daily, sometimes staying a week or more in one place.

  Realising that Dafydd often rode in a daze of inattention, rehearsing new rhymes and ideas in his head, Edmund took to leading the pack mule beside him, watching where the cob put her feet; sometimes though there were tracks where the going was easy and he would drop back beside Catrin and they would fall into stilted conversation. She was intrigued by his knowledge of healing, his way with animals. They discussed herbs and the making of salves and potions, something that was more often than not the job of the women in a household. At each outpost on the road guard dogs would race out barking and snarling but within a short time they would be clustering round him, making friends, tails wagging, begging for his attention, all hostility forgotten. It was a boon. Catrin remembered only too well previous trips with the hapless Roger Miller when she had cowered on her pony, terrified of the dogs until they had been called off.

  ‘How do you do it?’ she asked after yet another greeting by animals who seemed to think of him as an old friend.

  He laughed. ‘Ignore them; don’t show you are afraid. Greet them when they come to you as you would a friend. Then ignore them again. They must learn you are not creeping into their house. You are here by right, to greet their masters, and you greet them as well.’ He fondled the ears of the huge wolfhound which was standing in front of him. Catrin smiled. She was not sure it was quite that easy, but she was prepared to try.

  As they moved north up the March her dreams had moved with her. At night as she climbed into yet another strange bed under yet another unfamiliar roof she slipped almost gratefully into the darkness, aware that she would return in her dreams to Sleeper’s Castle. But once there her dreams were not always kind. Insistently, again and again she found she could hear the distant call of the drums, the blast of war trumpets and the scream of horses. The ground would shake beneath heavy hooves and in her sleep she would toss and turn and whimper in the dark, and she would wake and sit up, and gather her cloak around her shoulders and try to still the anxious thudding of her heart.

  It was not meant to happen. On a well-organised journey it would not have done so, but one night in June they found themselves too far from their destination as night fell and Edmund insisted that, rather than travel on in the darkness, luminous as it was, they find a sheltered spot to stop. The high moorland was deserted; with light still persisting in the north-west as he tethered the three animals, Edmund removed their saddles and the packs and lit a fire in the shelter of a steep gulley.

  Catrin glanced around nervously. ‘Are you sure we will be safe?’

  ‘As sure as I can be.’ Edmund watched as Dafydd wandered off a little way, trying to ease the stiffness in his bones. Even here, in the dark, they saw him reach for the tightly stoppered inkhorn and quill at his belt and scribble something on the scrap of parchment he pulled from his pouch. ‘Better this than have a horse trip or your father fall from his saddle with exhaustion. We’ll move on early in the morning. Come, sit here.’ He patted the ground near him. ‘I have oatcakes and cheese enough for us all and we have warm cloaks. We’ll be fine.’

  Hesitantly Catrin lowered herself onto a flat rock near him and watched as he coaxed a fire into life. He produced the food and horn mugs from one of the saddlebags.

  Catrin smiled. ‘Do you always travel prepared for every eventuality?’

  He nodded. ‘On a journey like this it is sensible. See, I have put the saddles here in the shelter of the rocks. You and your father can lean against them to sleep and be reasonably comfortable. I have ale which we can mull if you wish.’ He had unpacked a leather flask.

  The horses were already grazing the short sweet mountain grass; as it grew darker Catrin looked round for her father. ‘Where is he?’ she cried. He had been sitting some distance from them, squinting down at his notes in the firelight, but now as the moon rose slowly on the horizon she realised he had disappeared.

  Edmund scrambled to his feet. ‘You stay here. Don’t mo
ve. I will go and find him.’

  She peered after him into the darkness, relieved as the moon rose higher to see the soft light flood the broad valley below. There was no sign of anything moving, but she was still nervous. They shouldn’t have stopped. It would have been safer to continue to their next destination; the moonlight would have kept the trackways safe, safer than this, anyway, camped here in the mountains with her father missing. She stood up and stepped away from the fire, scanning the countryside. There were great black pools of darkness where the moonlight couldn’t reach, shadows, ravines, deep hiding places behind rocky outcrops. In the distance she heard the lonely whistle of peewits from the high moors and she shivered. There was no sign of Edmund, no sound at all apart from the birds. She glanced at the animals. If there were anyone out there, close at hand, they would hear. In Elfael they had heard wolves in the distance once. They were relaxed, happy, nibbling the grass. Then as she watched them all three stopped eating and raised their heads, ears pricked as they looked down towards the shoulder of the hill where the track disappeared into the deep shadow. Catrin took a step backwards and pulled her cloak more tightly round her shoulders, straining her eyes to see what it was the horses had heard, then she saw two figures appear in the distance. She breathed a sigh of relief.

  Her father was not happy. ‘I needed to be alone,’ he grumbled as Edmund handed him a mug of ale. ‘I cannot think, always in company! Either we sit in busy halls or I am with you two and your endless chatter, chatter, chatter!’

  Edmund and Catrin glanced at each other, both aware that they never chattered, that there was more often than not an uneasy silence between them as they traversed the lonely roads. Edmund winked at her and Catrin found herself responding with a smile. ‘I am sorry, Tad, but you should have told us, then we wouldn’t have worried. I thought you might have been lost in the dark.’

  Dafydd threw himself down on the ground beside her and accepted a hunk of cheese and an oatcake from Edmund, who then went and sat at a distance away from them, near the horses, which had resumed grazing. The moon faded into darkness behind a wall of cloud and the only light came now from the embers of the fire. Edmund did not attempt to revive it.

  ‘Edmund and I will not say a single word now, so you can think in peace,’ Catrin said after a long pause. ‘Goodnight, Tad.’

  Her father grunted. He hunched himself deeper into his cloak and sat with his back to her.

  It was several hours later when Catrin awoke. The moon had moved across the sky and there was a line of light on the eastern horizon. The fire, she realised, was burning again and a hunched figure sat beside it. She was stiff and cold and the ground felt very hard as slowly she sat up and dragged herself to her feet. She went across and knelt near the warmth, holding out her hands.

  ‘Did I wake you?’ Edmund was huddled in a horse blanket, sitting cross-legged, his eyes on the flames.

  ‘I’m glad you did. I am frozen.’ They were both speaking quietly. The hunched figure of Dafydd lay with his back to them without moving.

  ‘It will soon be light,’ Edmund went on. ‘Then we can get back on the road.’

  ‘Are you sorry you agreed to come with us?’ Catrin asked after a short silence.

  ‘No.’ There was a short pause. ‘I am enjoying it.’

  ‘Really? Two mad poets with no sense of time or direction!’

  He laughed softly. ‘Two talented people who need me to set them right. But it was no one’s fault we were delayed yesterday. The road was hard and steep and the horses are tired. If we rest for a while at our next stop we will be back on schedule. Your father wants to travel all the way up the March beyond Oswestry and Chirk.’ He glanced up at her. ‘Has he mentioned to you that he wants to go so far?’

  Catrin nodded. ‘We always go that far. We usually visit the same people each year, so he doesn’t have to tell me. One of his chief patrons is the Lord of Glyndŵr, whose lands lie in that direction. His family have been friends to us and beg us to return each time we go and see them.’ She smiled. ‘This is a good way of life.’

  ‘In spite of the trouble between Wales and England?’ He hugged his knees, staring into the smouldering ashes.

  ‘There is always unrest somewhere. We manage to avoid it.’

  She heard him sigh. He rested his forehead on his knees. ‘Have you heard different?’ she asked after a moment.

  ‘As you said, there is always something; one lord takes offence at another; the Welsh are treated badly by the English – even I can see that; the laws against them are prohibitive.’

  She smiled. ‘You don’t consider yourself Welsh, Edmund?’

  He shook his head. ‘I was born in England and I am loyal to King Henry.’

  ‘Joan told me you plan to join his army to fight the Scots.’

  He didn’t reply.

  ‘If you were called to arms by your liege you would have no choice,’ she prompted.

  She saw his shoulders tense, then relax. ‘I am a good archer,’ he said at last. ‘I’ve trained since I was a child. I believe I am good enough to join an elite band, make a name for myself; make money.’

  ‘My father’s family, my family, have always had Welsh allegiance,’ she said quietly. ‘Though living as we do in the March it pays to be reticent about one’s politics.’

  ‘That would always be wise. Especially now, as your father visits the houses of both Welsh and English. I see even the most ardent supporters of King Henry enjoy your father’s Welsh songs.’

  ‘Which he carefully sings in English for their ears.’

  ‘It is like walking a tightrope as the acrobats do.’ He sat back and took a deep breath. ‘Maybe we should think about packing up our camp and moving on. It is growing lighter now.’ He turned and faced her. ‘While we are on the road my allegiance is to you and your father, Catrin, in whichever house we find ourselves.’ He gave her a reassuring smile. Before she could react he had scrambled to his feet, heading towards the horses, leaving her staring after him.

  7

  Nina dropped her bombshell as they were wandering round Hay next morning. ‘I’m so sorry, darling, but I’m going to have to go back tomorrow.’

  Andy felt a lurch of disappointment. ‘Why?’ It was too soon. She had thought they would have plenty of time to talk and explore; time to settle into Sleeper’s Castle, knowing there was someone else there at night, along the landing, someone real and strong and reassuring.

  ‘I’ve had a text. It’s a pupil I’ve been coaching. She’s been asked to go and play as part of an interview and she’s very nervous. I promised I would help her with her party pieces.’ Nina smiled fondly.

  For as long as she could remember, Andy had heard the tentative notes of the piano echoing through the house, becoming less and less tentative and more and more competent as her mother’s pupils progressed. Even better had been the occasional glorious sound of her mother playing alone in the sitting room of the cottage in the evenings, filling the place with music. Andy would turn off her radio or the TV and sit staring into space listening, transported by the beauty of the sound.

  ‘I’m sorry, darling.’ Nina touched her arm, sensing the wave of devastation which swept over her daughter.

  ‘No, don’t be silly.’ Andy shook her head fiercely. ‘That’s what is so special about you. You’re always there for people.’

  ‘And I wanted to be here for you.’

  ‘You are. You have been. After all, you can come back.’ Andy swallowed hard. ‘Perhaps we can book a nice long holiday for you to come up, when none of your pupils are likely to need you?’

  Nina gave her a thoughtful glance. ‘You’re strong Andy,’ she said. ‘And I can see you’re loving it up here. Those moments of doubt will come less and less often as you get used to being without Graham. I promise you, darling.’

  Nevertheless, one of those moments of doubt hit her the following day after she had waved Nina out of sight down the lane and she was once more alone. The day was cold and g
rey. A soft mizzle of rain lay like a damp blanket over the valley and the house felt very empty. There was no sign of Pepper when she went back inside, closed the door and headed for the kitchen; through the window the garden looked sodden and messy, the first leaves already off the trees and lying yellow on the lawns. No doubt the brook would be gathering strength to roar through the night and keep her awake. She sighed and began to gather their lunch plates and put them in the sink. She was too downhearted to do more. Wandering through the house she listened to the silence. Once she stopped and looked round. ‘Catrin?’ she called. ‘Are you there?’ But there was no answer. There wasn’t even any wind in the chimneys to drown out the sound of the steadily falling rain on the flagstones outside the windows.

  Huddled under the duvet in her bedroom she put on the bedside lamp and reached for one of her favourite books. Later she would turn on the TV or perhaps start to plan a supper party to return Sian’s hospitality. Anything to distract her. She didn’t want to think about Kew. She didn’t want to think about Rhona there in her home, Graham’s home, desecrating the place, taking ownership of everything Andy treasured and loved. She didn’t want Rhona invading her memories. Better to try and forget.

  But it was no good.

  ‘Graham,’ she whispered. ‘Where are you?’ The loneliness was unbearable.

  On that last sunny day she and Graham had spent at the house in Kew before he had had his terrible life-shattering diagnosis they had wandered out onto the terrace with a jug of Pimm’s and two glasses and the Sunday papers. She was barefoot; she remembered clearly the wood of the boards warm under her feet. Graham of course would have been wearing shoes. She didn’t ever remember seeing him without shoes in the garden. In her mind she put down the paper and her glass and she walked down the steps onto the grass, which was soft and warm beneath her toes.

  As she walked across the lawn the sun went in and a cloud crossed the sky, blotting out the blue. The first drops of rain began to fall.