Chapter 17
February, 1177
Rhuddlan Castle, Gwynedd
“My lord husband, I want to speak to you.”
William Longsword turned around in surprise. Lady Teleri stood in the open doorway to his council chamber, flanked on either side by an attendant. Her tone was imperious, her expression severe. If he hadn’t been so shocked that she had sought him out, the first time in over two years of marriage, his guard would have gone up.
“Am I permitted to come in?” she asked sharply when he made no reply.
He recovered his composure and gestured with an arm. “Of course. Come in. There’s a chair…”
She swept into the room followed by her women and they all seemed to be glaring at him. “I don’t want to sit.” She glanced around the small chamber. “And I prefer a private conversation.”
There were half a dozen men with him. They hadn’t been discussing anything important; they’d all just wandered in after dinner. The day outside was bitterly cold and dark as if a blustery snowstorm was imminent and no one had wanted to be out in it. But one look at the disagreeable visages of the trio standing before them and they decided a quick jog across the frigid ward and into the barracks wouldn’t be as bad as they’d thought.
“Well, my lady?”
He couldn’t take his eyes off her. He’d never seen so much animation on her face and he was fascinated by the change. She stared back at him steadily, unsmiling, her whole body straight and stiff with suppressed emotion. The effect was strangely appealing, where he had never found her remotely appealing before.
“I’ve come about your slut,” she said flatly.
“My what?”
“The whore whom you take into your bed! Gladys! Don’t pretend you don’t know what I’m talking about!”
Her appeal was beginning to fade. He frowned. “What about her?”
“Is that all you have to say? I won’t stand for it! I want you to send her away! I want her gone from Rhuddlan!”
It seemed to Longsword that the two women standing behind Teleri sniffed and nodded. He was suddenly annoyed with his wife’s interruption of his impromtu gathering and the consequent departure of his men. And for what? Because she felt herself slighted by his attentions to another woman! “I thought you wanted to speak privately,” he said, not bothering to hide the irritation in his voice.
“Don’t think you can change the subject and I’ll forget why I’ve come!” she snapped.
What the hell was going on, he wondered. How had she even found out about the girl—what did she say her name was? Gladys? He hadn’t known her name. It wasn’t as if he was with her every night and he had really tried to be discreet; he was a believer in protocol even if he didn’t care for his wife—
“Are you listening to me?” Teleri demanded.
“Yes!” He had never seen her so livid, even when she had wanted him to send Olwen back to her uncle. He didn’t know much about women and their moods, not as much anyway as Delamere, and he wasn’t sure how he was supposed to react to her insulting anger. He knew exactly what he’d do if it were a man who was speaking to him in such a manner.
“Then I can assume you’ll do as I said?”
“Do what?” he asked stupidly.
Her fine dark eyes widened in outrage. “Your whore!” she shouted. “Gladys! I don’t want her under this roof one more night!”
“Keep your voice down, my lady!” he said sharply. “What’s this all about?”
“You haven’t been listening to anything I’ve said, have you?”
“Stop shouting!”
“I will not! You parade your pregnant slut in front of me and you expect me to suffer it in silence? I won’t! I refuse to be humiliated in my home and by my husband! If you don’t get rid of her I’ll write to my uncle—”
“What did you say?” Longsword, taking a few steps in her direction, interrupted. “This girl—Gladys, is it—she’s pregnant?”
“You didn’t know?” Teleri laughed mockingly at him and gave him a withering look. “Did you think she was just eating too much?”
“If she’s slept with me, she’s probably slept with others. What makes you think it’s my child she’s got?” For some reason, although he spoke calmly enough, his heart was thudding in his chest.
“She claims she hasn’t been with any of your men. I believe her; your Norman manners are so revolting that why would she want to sleep with the lot of you? The child is yours. And now I want the both of them out of my sight.”
Longsword’s mouth was dry and his head was spinning. He needed wine, or even ale, desperately. My God! he thought shakily; I’m going to be a father!
“My lord husband—” Teleri started.
“Just where do you propose I send a young, pregnant woman, my lady?” he said.
“That isn’t my concern. I don’t care what you do with her. Just get her out of Rhuddlan!”
He had to sit. He went to the chair that he’d offered earlier to Teleri and collapsed into it heavily. He couldn’t believe the news she’d just given him. “I’m not sending Gladys away,” he said.
Teleri’s brown eyes flashed. “Yes, you will—”
“If, my lady, you were doing what a good wife is supposed to do you wouldn’t be standing here now making a fool of yourself. You’re jealous, you know that? Jealous someone else has what you want—”
“Don’t flatter yourself—”
“Well, you’re just going to have to swallow it. She stays here.”
“Then I demand to be sent back to my uncle! I won’t be subjected to this kind of treatment from my husband!”
“You’re only a woman, Teleri; you haven’t got the right to make demands.”
“Welsh law—”
He cut in sharply, “Under this roof you’re subject to Norman law! And there’s nothing in it that says I have to do anything you want me to do!”
She stared malevolently at him for several seconds. “You’ll regret this, my lord,” she said finally, in a calm voice that sounded jarring after all the loud arguing that had preceded it. Without another word, she turned on her heel and swept through the doorway.
Longsword sagged in the chair. He felt as if he’d just finished a solid hour of nonstop sword practice against a man of twice his build and proficiency. He was glad the argument had ended when it had because while he possessed a quick sword arm, his mind was not as agile and Teleri would have soon reduced him to ranting idiocy.
But it was impossible to dwell too long on Teleri. He was going to be a father! Every time he said it to himself, the same thrill ran from his stomach to the ends of his toes and fingers, leaving him so excited that he couldn’t stay seated. Damn Richard for being away, he thought; perhaps he ought to send a man to the farm to fetch him back. Better yet, he would go himself! At first light the next morning. The manor was less than a day’s ride away and he could be celebrating with Delamere before supper. He had yet to see the newest addition to his family, another boy, born last November. It would be wonderful to share the news with someone who could understand exactly what he felt.
But the storm that had been threatening all day broke overnight, and when Longsword awoke the grey sky was still swirling and the road leading out from Rhuddlan’s main gate was invisible, buried under half a foot of snow like the surrounding countryside. Although he was fairly confident of the way, it made no sense to struggle to Delamere’s manor while snow continued to fall. He returned to his bed, slipped an arm around Gladys’ waist and went back to sleep.
The sudden storm had disrupted several of his men’s plans as well. The trio had left Rhuddlan early the previous day with the intention of pursuing whatever winter game they could scare up. There was no pressing need to fill the castle stores but boredom was a constant problem at Rhuddlan, one with which Longsword commiserated and he invariably permitted his men the freedom of the demense.
The sky had been grey when the men had left but they had paid it scant attention because g
rey seemed to be the usual color of the Welsh winter sky. It wasn’t until one of them pointed out that the wind had picked up and the air temperature had fallen that they’d decided to turn their mounts’ heads towards home. When the first flakes of snow began to scatter down, they realized they were further from Rhuddlan than they’d figured. Daylight faded quickly and soon the snow was falling fast and hard, blinding them, obscuring their path and confusing the horses. When they chanced upon a hendref, a Welsh winter homestead, consisting of a long house and a smaller building attached to one side, they dismounted and led their horses to the rough wooden door. One of them stepped forward and pounded on the door.
It was opened by a bearded, middle-aged Welshman who, despite his surprise at seeing a group of armed foreigners inches from his face, immediately invited them in.
The Welshman, who was passing the winter in this low-lying area until the spring rains came and he could move his livestock to higher pastures, spoke no French or English and the soldiers spoke no Welsh, but at first this proved no impediment to mutual goodwill. The strangers were set by the hearth, which burned in the center of the room, smoke escaping through a hole in the roof, and brought ale and warm food by the Welshman’s wife and daughter.
It happened that the soldiers, who were forced by necessity to speak only among themselves, fell to discussing the physical merits of the daughter. She was a pretty child, about fifteen years old, with long, dark hair and green eyes with which she unabashedly scrutinized them until her mother called her to bed on the opposite side of the hearth and protectively cocooned between the wall and her parents. The men agreed that she was the loveliest creature they had thus far seen in Wales and then in drunken and lewd whispers, they began dissecting her further until one by one they dropped into sleep.
That might have been the end of the matter had the girl not been restless during the night, listening to the screaming of the wind and the slashing of the snow against her wall. As was her habit on the occasions she couldn’t sleep, she crept over her parents and tiptoed across the earthen floor to find the wooden bowl containing the last of the day’s milk. But this time there were others in the house and one in particular who opened bleary eyes and barely made out a lithe figure with flowing hair standing almost over him. Without thinking, he sat up and reached for the apparition and found it real and warm and soft. He pulled it down to lay beside him and to him it seemed just a dream and in the dream she was compliant and sensuous, writhing exotically beneath him and calling out to spur him on and he responded ardently until sudden, hard hands grabbed him from behind, spun him around and hauled him roughly to his feet. He protested and felt a fist land on his cheek. Then he was fully awake. The shrieking of the storm outside was so loud that it disoriented him until he realized the noise wasn’t made by the wind but by the Welshman’s daughter, who was lying on his cloak, curled into a little ball and screaming hysterically. For a split instant, everything else in the room was silent and unmoving. His companions were up on their elbows, staring at him blankly. The girl’s father was red-faced, his hands made into fists. The mother was standing in the shadows beyond the hearthlight, her palm covering her mouth.
Just that one instant when he thought he and the screaming girl were the only two alive and the rest all statues…and while he stood on, staring dumbly, the Welshman rushed at him with his fists flailing, beating him over and over until he came to his senses and shoved the man backwards. Then the soldier was angry with himself because he knew the man could have killed him if he’d bothered to retrieve a dagger before attacking. He bent down to get his sword, but the girl thought he was coming after her again and shrieked even more loudly. He pushed her aside and she kicked out at him. He could see the hilt of the sword peeking out from beneath his cloak, against the hearth wall, and stretched out a hand, but then one of his companions shouted his name and he whirled around to see the girl’s father bearing down on him once more. He put up his hands to protect himself but the attack never came. Instead, he watched as the expression on the other man’s face changed from anger and hatred to shock and pain. The Welshman sank to the hard floor and collapsed near his daughter’s shaking body, a dark stain spreading out from his back. When the soldier looked up, he saw one of his companions standing before him with a bloody sword in his hand.
When Richard Delamere saw William Longsword standing in the gatehouse and staring directly at him as he rode up to Rhuddlan, he felt a flash of annoyance. If, he thought, Longsword was going to begrudge him every small moment with Olwen, then he might as well move to the manor permanently and see his friend’s angry face only when the time came each year for him to give his service. Because he was unhappy with his wife, Longsword seemed to expect that no one should find satisfaction with a woman.
To Delamere’s surprise, however, as he neared the fortress, Longword raised a hand in welcome and shouted down a friendly greeting, and by the time he had ridden through the gate, Longsword was down in the ward, waiting impatiently for him.
A groom ran up to take his horse. When he turned around, Longsword caught him by surprise in a rough embrace, kissed both his cheeks and clapped him on the shoulders. “Welcome back, Richard!” he said heartily. “I hope the snow didn’t slow you down too much? At least the sun is finally out. A fine day to travel!”
“Yes…” Delamere answered cautiously, confused by this strange attitude. Since when had Longsword ever noticed the weather except to complain about it?
“How is Olwen? And the boys? The little one thrives, I hope? You haven’t lost any beasts to the cold?”
“No, they’re all—everything is—I mean, everyone is fine. What’s—”
“Come inside!” Longsword interrupted. “I’m freezing! I’ve been waiting in that drafty gatehouse for you. No wonder the men have been griping about watch duty. It wasn’t built right. My father just threw up this castle, for God’s sake. I’ve been thinking about ripping it down and putting up a new one. The gatehouse, that is. Have to wait until the spring, of course and probably by then no one will remember how miserable it was up there, anyway.” He laughed. “It might be easier to just give them all an extra cloak to put on.”
They climbed the steps to the hall, Longsword taking them two at a time. Delamere, a little stiff from riding half the day in the cold, was slower but though he lagged behind, he could hear his friend chattering away as if he were still at his shoulder. He was astonished. He had never heard Longsword speak so much at one time; even after hours of drinking he remained taciturn and since his marriage he’d been positively morose. The only time he ever ran on was when something happened to put him in a good mood, but the last two years in Wales had made him nothing but blatantly miserable.
Longsword paused at the head of the stairway and looked down at him. “You’ve got to be hungry after that ride, right? I’ve had dinner saved for you.” He clicked his tongue impatiently. “Come on, will you?”
He’d saved dinner? Delamere had to stop and take a good look around to assure himself that he was indeed in Rhuddlan. Surely there was some kind of magic being worked on him. Perhaps he was only dreaming and he’d soon awaken to find Olwen’s warm body next to him.
But as soon as he walked into the hall, he knew he was at Rhuddlan and not dreaming. In his dream, the stone walls of the hall would be freshly whitewashed and unstained by soot marks from the rushlights in the sconces lining them. The trestle tables and benches would have been neatly put away after the last meal instead of littering the floor as they now did, or at least cleared of debris. The floor itself would have been swept clean of the old, crumbled and crumb-filled rushes and strewn with fresh ones and sweet-smelling herbs. And most certainly, in his dream, a handful of young serving women would not be sitting with the dozen or so soldiers who had nothing better to do than to while away the afternoon drinking, playing dice and telling each other tall tales. For some time, Delamere had been after Longsword to get a steward to keep the household in order; he hated returni
ng from the calm organization of Olwen’s house to the chaos of Rhuddlan’s hall but apparently Longsword had no interest in making the fortress remotely comfortable.
“…And what do you think about that?” his friend was saying.
Delamere frowned. “About what?”
“Oh, never mind,” Longsword grinned. He grabbed the other man’s arm and pulled him along to the dais where a place lay waiting for him at the table. “Come on! There’d better be wine in that pitcher. I tried to make them understand I wanted wine.” Longsword picked up the pitcher and sniffed at it. “Good!” he pronounced and poured himself and Delamere a cupful. He raised his and gestured to Delamere to do the same.
“All right, Will,” Delamere said in exasperation. “Can you just tell me what the hell is going on? Because I can’t really take anymore of your cheerfulness. I’m not used to it and it’s tiring me out to keep up with you.”
Longsword’s expression sobered. “Congratulate me. I’m going to become a father,” he answered solemnly, and then broke into another uncontrollable grin. He banged his cup down on the table so hard that wine splashed over the rim, grabbed his friend by the shoulders and shook him joyfully. “I’m going to be a father! Do you hear me?”
“How can I not, with you shouting?” Delamere was even more puzzled than before. “Forgive me if I’m speechless; I can’t believe this news.”
Longsword retrieved his cup and drank down its contents in one long gulp. “Why can’t you believe it?” he asked, wiping his mouth with the back of his hand. “Do you think you’re the only one who can get children on these Welshwomen?”
“Of course not! It’s only that…well, to tell you the truth, I didn’t know things were like that between you and Lady Teleri.”
“Teleri! Ha!” Longsword exploded into laughter. “I’ve not as much experience in these matters as you, Richard, but I did think that in order for something to come out from between a woman’s legs, something else must first go in.”
Delamere stared at him. “Then it’s not your wife who’s pregnant?”
“Not unless it’s God’s own! No, Richard, not Teleri. Remember the chit I said always seemed smarter than the others? Always helpful? That’s her. Gladys, Teleri said her name is. Some name, huh? Took me a day to learn how to say it properly. I don’t know why she can’t have a decent Norman name. Gladys! It’s worse than something English.”
Delamere’s head was spinning. “Will! Can you shut up a minute? You’re giving me a headache!”
Some of the joy left Longsword’s face. “I thought you’d be happy for me.”
“I am! I truly am! But I want to know a few things. First, does Lady Teleri know about this?”
“Of course! She’s the one who told me.”
Delamere was astonished. How long had he been gone this time, anyway? Almost two months? Damn! What was going on when he wasn’t around? He lifted his cup automatically and drank down the wine. He shoved the empty vessel towards Longsword. “More.”
“Teleri came to see me a few days ago,” Longsword explained, tipping the pitcher. “She was all in a huff, demanding I get rid of the girl or I’ll be sorry. She thought I knew already.” He handed Delamere the full cup. “How would I know? Gladys never said anything. Even if she had I wouldn’t have understood.”
“So how did your wife find out?”
Longsword shrugged. “Who knows? Perhaps she guessed. Or perhaps Gladys told her. She isn’t very happy. When I saw Gladys later that day, one of her cheeks was red from Teleri’s hand. So I confronted Teleri and warned her against abusing Gladys again. I told her that if anything happened to my baby, she’ll be the one who pays.”
“You can’t hit your wife, Will. It’s against Welsh law.”
“It’s not against Norman law.”
They stared at each other. Longsword’s expression was utterly composed. With a resigned sigh, Delamere dropped heavily into one of the chairs at the dais table and surveyed the platter of cold roasted meat, thickly sliced barley-bread and oblongs of cheese placed before him. There was a shallow bowl of water nearby and he dipped his fingers into it and dried them on the linen napkin underneath it. He took a piece of bread and chewed on it thoughtfully.
“I’ll tell you one thing,” Longsword said, sitting next to him in the high-backed, carved chair set directly at the center of the table. “I’m a new man, Richard. When I was talking to Teleri I made a comment about her being jealous of what someone had that ought, by right, to be hers. After she’d stomped off, I thought about that remark. Do you know that’s precisely the way I felt about my half-brother? I was jealous of him!”
Delamere was so surprised to hear this admission that he started choking on the bread he’d just swallowed. “Were you?” he managed to croak out.
Longsword slapped his back. “Yes. Anyway, I’ve decided not to allow petty jealousies of my brother or meaningless arguments with my wife drag me down anymore. Becoming a father puts everything into perspective, doesn’t it?”
“Oh, yes…Pass the wine over here, will you?”
“I tell you, I can’t wait, Richard!” Longsword said excitedly, sliding the jug across the table. “Who do you think I should send him to for training? I could do it myself but I’d rather my son not grow up in Wales. It’s too boring and the king would never get to see him.”
Delamere poured himself a cup of wine and drank it down in one long draught. “You’ve been thinking about this a lot, haven’t you?” he asked, pressing a napkin to his lips.
“Of course! Who wouldn’t?”
“What if it’s a girl?”
Longsword looked puzzled. “What?”
“The baby. What if it’s a girl and not a boy?”
“Don’t be ridiculous, Richard!” his friend scoffed. “It’s practically a tradition for the first child in this family to be a boy! My father has more sons than he has land for!” But then his expression became disconcerted. He hadn’t considered the possibility that Gladys might have a girl. “A girl. A daughter…Well, I’m sure that could be very nice,” he said uncertainly.
“Don’t worry! Daughters have their uses, too!” Delamere laughed.
“Hmph!” Longsword’s tone was disapproving. “I’m not sure I’d want to expose any daughter of mine to young men who approve of your sorts of uses for women.”