A Gift of Sanctuary by Candace Robb Page A

Lucie and the children, wondered how Jasper, their adopted son, was managing as both Lucie’s apprentice and the strong back in the garden. Jasper was thirteen years old, tall for his age and strong from his work in the garden and five years of training at the butts with Owen. They passed the time thus pleasantly until they heard a sharp knocking on the outer door and the noise of men gathering their belongings.
    Sir Robert leaned across the table, grasped Owen’s forearms, looked deeply into his eyes. ‘God speed, my son. May He watch over you on the journey to Cydweli, and always.’
    ‘And may you find peace here. Remember to be patient about your return. Wait for a large party in which to travel.’
    Sir Robert nodded once, kissed Owen on both cheeks, then released him.
    After a second warning knock, Edern entered the room and stood just within the door, a squirrel-lined travelling cloak thrown over one shoulder exposing a sword and dagger. A cap hid his tonsure. In fact nothing suggested he was a cleric except for a small emblem on his gown identifying him as Houghton’s man.
    The vicar’s willing participation still bothered Owen. He had taken the precaution of assigning Iolo, his most trusted man and one familiar with the countryside, to shadow the vicar and ensure his honesty.
    Edern nodded to Owen and Geoffrey, who had just returned from the chapel. ‘We must make haste. We should use the fog to hide from curious eyes. Though we shall climb out of the vale underground, we must still watch our backs. We would do best to avoid Reine’s murderer and whoever left him at the gate.’ It was not yet dawn, but the vicar showed no signs of recent awakening, neither in his eyes nor his gestures.
    Not so Owen’s men, who waited in the outer chamber. Sleep creased their faces, kinked their hair, puffed their eyes, and gave them all an air of confusion. Yesterday the men had complained loudly of their paltry rest between journeys, but this morning they were silent. At Owen’s command, they stood and followed Edern down into the undercroft. They were joined by four servants who would carry the corpse, now secured in a wooden box, to the cart which awaited them outside the city with two of the bishop’s guards. Owen sensed the darkening of his men’s already grim moods as Reine joined their procession. Last night they had been made uneasy by a rumour circling the hall, that four soldiers in the livery of Cydweli had been seen combing the beach at Whitesands two days before, heavily armed. Four armed men who had then vanished.
    Tom, the youngest of the retainers brought from Kenilworth and the only one who had never set foot in Wales prior to this journey, had been pale with fear when Owen had returned from his meal with the bishop the previous evening. ‘Six men have now vanished from this place, Captain. Five of them armed men, one a pilgrim.’
    ‘One of the five lies beneath the bishop’s great hall,’ Jared had muttered. ‘And he wore the same livery as the others.’
    ‘They do say the Old Ones live in this vale,’ Tom had continued. ‘And that up on St David’s Head is a place on which a Christian must not stand, else he will be sucked into the world of the Old Ones.’
    ‘I am not ordering you up on to St David’s Head, lad,’ Owen said. ‘Nor did the men disappear into the world of the Old Ones, as you call them. I would wager that the four were the same who came to the palace yesterday demanding to see the body.’
    ‘Which we shall carry on the morrow,’ Jared said.
    Sam spat in the corner. ‘Why would the guard from Cydweli desert one of their own dead, Captain, eh? Spirited away, they were.’
    ‘And spirited back?’ Owen had laughed.
    Iolo, the only Welshman among them, grinned and shook his head. ‘This is hallowed ground, you fools. Save your fears for a truly bedevilled place.’
    ‘I, for one, pray they are spirits,’ said Jared. ‘I’d rather spirits lie in wait for us upon the