We reached Oxeneford late in the afternoon. The king had a palace outside the city walls, and it was there we would stay for a few days before travelling on to Pengraic in the Welsh Marches.
We skirted the city, turning for the north-western meadows, and suddenly I saw laid out in the fields beyond the palace the encampment of what appeared to me to be a large army. There were scores of tents with pennants flying the colours and heraldic arms of their occupants, long horse lines, cooking fires, men at weapon practice or standing about idling, and maille-smiths sweating over their work. It made the threat of unrest, even outright rebellion, seem very real to me, whereas before it had only been something lurking in the shadows of words and frowns.
Much of the column peeled off into this encampment, but Edmond, his closest retainers (including Saint-Valery), Scersberie and Pengraic and his household continued into the palace. I helped Lady Adelie and Evelyn out of the cart, then took control of John and Rosamund. Evelyn was moving better now, although she was still stiff and sore. We went inside the palace and were shown to our chambers. We were all glad to be allowed to rest, before the evening meal in the king’s great hall.
Unlike the meal at Rosseley, Evelyn and myself, and even Mistress Yvette, sat at places far down the hall tables, where we only talked among ourselves during a repast I thought indifferent to that offered at Rosseley. Evelyn was feeling uncomfortable, and no one noticed when I decided to accompany her back to our chamber where I thought I would help her to bed.
I stayed with her for a while, until Mistress Yvette returned and then went with her to help Lady Adelie to her bed. The earl and his countess had a magnificent chamber on the top floor of the main palace building, with a cleverly arched and panelled ceiling, and with its own great fireplace. Their bed, heavily draped in well-worked crimson hangings and festooned with furs, dominated the room and I spent more than a few minutes in some envy at their comforts.
The earl was elsewhere, and once Mistress Yvette and I had disrobed Lady Adelie and helped her into the luxurious bed, Yvette and I carefully folded the countess’ robes and lay them in one of the two chests in the chamber.
‘Maeb?’
I turned to the countess, sitting in her bed with her ever-present book of devotion in her hands.
‘Maeb, Yvette is weary, although she will not speak of it, and is troubled by an ache in her temples. Will you attend me tomorrow morning, at rising? I would allow Yvette a morning to lie abed, for her own rest.’
‘Of course, madam.’ I was both pleased and a little nervous. I had attended the countess on occasion in the morning, aiding her to rise, but always with Mistress Yvette present.
‘In that hour before dawn, if you will,’ Lady Adelie said. ‘I would rise early for my prayer on the morrow.’
Privately I thought the countess could do with a lie abed herself, for she looked strained, but I merely nodded, dipped in courtesy, made sure that neither the countess nor Mistress Yvette needed me for anything else, and returned to the chamber I shared with Evelyn.
I had thought to find Evelyn asleep, but she was awake, and in some discomfort.
‘Evelyn? What is it?’
‘Oh, nothing too troublesome, Maeb. Do not fret. It is but this back. It cramps and will not let me sleep.’
‘I will fetch a hot poultice for you, Evelyn. It will relax the griping.’
I could see Evelyn struggling with herself. I knew Evelyn well. Part of her would not wish to trouble me, the other part desperately yearned for that poultice.
I laughed. ‘Do not fret, Evelyn. I know the way to the kitchens, for I went there earlier for madam’s posset. I will fetch the poultice, and then you will rest easy.’
Evelyn’s face relaxed in relief. ‘Thank you, Maeb.’
I found the kitchen easily enough, and tried to keep out of the cooks’ and servants’ way as I made a warm barley and herb poultice for Evelyn’s back. I wrapped it in some linen, then begged a wooden bowl from one of the cooks that I might carry it more easily.
It was late night now, and many of the torches had burned low. I crossed the small courtyard to the building where our chamber lay, but somehow took the wrong door. I only realised I had mislaid my way when I walked into a store chamber filled with barrels and realised that I had not passed through it on my way to the kitchen. It was very dark, the only light coming from a couple of open windows high in the walls, and I muttered to myself, cross that I had lost my way.
I turned for the door, intending to retrace my steps back into the courtyard where I might find the right door, when I stopped, so terrified that I froze, unable to move or even think.
The door was open, and there must have been a torch in the chamber beyond, for what stood — crouched — in the door was clearly silhouetted.
It was an imp — my mind registered that at least. How often had I seen them, crawling in stone across the walls of churches, or grinning down from their gutters high above?
It had a grotesque lumpy body, its limbs thin and stick-like, its hands and feet over-sized and splayed as it rested on all fours, watching me.
A long, skinny tail snaked out behind it, threshing to and fro, like a cat stalking.
Its face was round, with a pig’s snout, its teeth small and sharp.
A red forked tongue flicked out as I watched, and its luminous eyes slowly blinked.
Then it hissed and rose on its back legs as if to strike out. Standing, it was taller than a man.
I shrieked, stumbling backward, certain that it would take my life and carry my soul down to hell.
Suddenly something caught me about the waist and I was violently wrenched to one side.
‘Get thee back to thy foul master, imp!’ a man’s voice cried, and I heard the sound of steel being drawn.
I had stumbled against a barrel, and it was only after I had found my balance and could look up that I realised it was Pengraic who stood there, stepping forth to the imp with his sword drawn. He made a lunge toward it and the imp gave a soft sibilant hissing sound, as if thwarted, and abruptly vanished.
A low cry came from my throat, and everything momentarily blurred and darkened about me. I felt the earl grab me about the waist again, and he guided me to sit down on a barrel that lay on its side. He sat holding me until he was sure that I would no longer faint.
‘Saints damn you! What do you here?’
‘I am s … s … sorry, my lord. I came only for a poultice for Evelyn’s back.’ Amazingly, I realised I still held the thing in my hands. I had been confronted by an imp from hell, but I had not dropped Evelyn’s poultice. ‘I lost my way … I am … I am … sorry.’
‘You are a most foolish woman, mistress!’ the earl said as his hands relaxed away from my waist.
I thought to rise, almost as fearful of the earl in his bad temper as I had been of the imp, but he stopped me.
‘Wait. We need to talk, then I will escort you back to your chamber.’
‘Yes, my lord.’
‘You will not say anything, not to anyone, about what you saw here tonight.’
‘No, my lord.’
‘Not to anyone, Maeb! Swear it!’
‘I swear, my lord!’
‘Not to Evelyn, not to my lady wife, not to Stephen. To no one. It would cause panic and dismay, and that we do not need.’
‘I will not speak, my lord.’
We were close enough that I could see his face, and I could