them so tightly that she soon lost feeling in her hands. The one with a gun turned to point it at Dada when he came running from the field and then at Mam when she came out of the house. Ceris Williams was under arrest for taking part in a Rebecca Riot, the one who had bound her said. They were taking her to Tegfan.
They marched her quickly along, one holding to each of her arms. Deliberately quickly, she thought, so that she would trip and they could haul her up again. If only she could have held up her skirt at the front, it would not have happened at all. But she went down on one knee once and all the way down another time. She kept her head down, though she knew that they passed a few people. She prayed fervently and constantly to the God in whom she believed passionately. She prayed that she would have the strength not to betray Aled. Or Marged or Waldo Parry or any of the others she knew.
She had never been inside Tegfan. It was huge and intimidating. They took her inside one of the rooms that led off the spacious hall. There were three men in there—the Earl of Wyvern, Sir Hector Webb, and the keeper of the gate that had been destroyed by the time she reached it. They all turned to look at her as she came in. It was of the earl she felt most frightened. His face was hard and his eyes were cold. The obvious anger of Sir Hector seemed preferable.
“Well, Miss Williams,” the earl said, “we have been hearing some stories about you.”
She looked at him mutely. She found herself wondering how Marged would behave in such a situation. Marged was wonderfully courageous. Marged would not look away or tremble—or crack under pressure.
He strolled toward her across the room until he was no more than three feet in front of her. He stood very tall and straight. His hands were at his back. She had the sudden and terrifying impression that he held a whip in them.
“We have been told,” he said, glancing briefly to his left at the gatekeeper, “that you were at the scene of a gate breaking last night, Miss Williams. Is this true?”
She stared at him. Very deliberately in her mind she was reciting the Lord’s Prayer.
“Perhaps there was an explanation for your being there,” he said. “If so, you must say so and you will be allowed to return home. Why were you there?”
Give us this day our daily bread.
“You were taken up by one of the men known as Rebecca’s daughters,” he said. “Did you know him? Or did he merely kidnap you and set you down somewhere else?”
Aled. Oh, Aled, oh, Aled, oh, Aled. As we forgive those who trespass against us.
He asked her numerous questions. She lost count of the number of times she recited the same prayer. Stupidly, she could not remember any others to recite. And her mind was not lucid enough to pray spontaneously.
And then Sir Hector started on her. He was much louder, much angrier. He shouted at her until he lifted one hand and would have brought the back of it across her face if the earl had not grabbed him by the wrist.
“I don’t think violence is going to get anything out of her,” he said. “I will try other methods, Hector, but I would prefer to be alone when I try them, if you get my meaning. Leave her with me. She will not escape me and I will get the truth out of her, never fear.”
Sir Hector gave a short bark of laughter as Ceris’s blood froze. What did he mean? But there was no doubt in her mind what he meant. There was a half smile on his lips, an expression at horrible variance with his cold, cold eyes.
She was on the verge of breaking her silence and begging Sir Hector Webb not to leave her alone with the Earl of Wyvern. But a brisk knock on the door was preceded by its opening. It was behind Ceris. She did not turn her head to look.
“I beg your pardon, sir,” Matthew Harley said, his voice breathless. Ceris closed her eyes briefly. “I have just heard. Has she said anything?”
“I believe,” the Earl of Wyvern said coldly, “that the cat has got her tongue, Harley, or whatever it is that takes maidens’ tongues in Wales.”