Chapter 24
March, 1177
Rhuddlan Castle, Gwynedd
Longsword woke up irritated. Dawn was breaking; his chamber was filled with a murky grey light, a certain indication of a cloudy sky. Why was the weather always so damned dreary in Wales, he thought grumpily. And why were the shutters standing open, anyway? He didn’t remember leaving them open the night before…
He felt a pressing urge to relieve himself. There should have been a pot around somewhere, or maybe he’d just go to the garderobe at the end of the passageway…
But at his first movement came shooting pains which reverberated from his neck down into his shoulder and back again. For a split-second he was surprised; then he remembered the wound. He cursed out loud. How was he going to do such a simple thing as empty his bladder if he couldn’t move? With his right hand he pushed away the bedclothes, finishing the job with his legs. He took a deep breath, gritted his teeth and very slowly and painfully lifted his head and shoulders from the pillow. His stomach strained from the effort; absently, he wondered how long he’d lain prone to have had such a deleterious effect on his stomach muscles. Finally he was sitting upright. His neck throbbed and he couldn’t have moved his left arm if his life depended on it, but he felt grimly proud of himself. As soon as he was able to mount his horse, he was going to hunt down Rhirid ap Maelgwn and kill him.
A ragged hem and two ill-shod feet appeared in his field of vision. With a second painful effort, he raised his head and saw a woman standing before him. He recognized her; she was the same one who had fed him the broth and wine. He opened his mouth to speak but she was quicker.
“What do you think you’re doing?” she demanded. Almost as an afterthought she added, “My lord.”
He scowled at her. Every muscle in his body ached and his neck was screaming murder and she had the nerve to stand there with her hands on her hips and a crease in her forehead and berate him? It was intolerable. “Give me a hand,” he ordered, his voice hoarse. “I want to—Christ!” He had just realized he was naked. He grabbed his pillow with his right hand and plopped it in his lap.
She burst out laughing.
“What the hell is so funny?” he said angrily.
“My lord, who do you think’s been looking after you these last few days? All of you?”
He stared at her. This was how she’d looked the day before; her eyes smiling and her face relaxed. In a calmer voice and with as much dignity as he could muster, he said, “I need to relieve myself.”
Without another word, she went around to the opposite side of the bed, picked the pot up from the floor and brought it back to him. She retreated to the unshuttered window.
“Where’s Richard?” he asked.
“I’m sure he’ll be in right after Mass,” she answered. “Last night was the first he didn’t sleep on the stool by your bed.”
“He was staying here?” Longsword felt foolishly touched.
“He refused to leave. I think he thought the sheer force of his will was sufficient to make you recover. Are you through?”
“Yes.”
She came around to take the pot, which she put outside the chamber door. “Let me help you lie down again.”
“No, I want to stand up. I might as well try it while I’m already halfway there.” He tentatively flexed his leg muscles. “I’ve been in this damned bed too long as it is.”
She planted herself so close in front of him that he couldn’t have stood up without falling backwards, or knocking her down, even if his legs had felt capable of supporting him. “No,” she said.
He frowned. “What do you mean, no?”
“You’ve only just got over a fever, my lord. Your body is too weak.”
“Well, this is the way to begin strengthening it again—”
“No, this is the way to fall flat on your face and burst open the wound again, my lord,” she cut in furiously. “I won’t have it!”
He blinked at her suddenly sharp tone. She was glaring, her hands clenched. If he hadn’t been so annoyed, he would have laughed at her display of anger. What was she planning to do? Assault him with her fists?
“Better do as she says, Will.”
Longsword looked past the girl, his annoyance evaporating instantly. “Richard! I’m glad to see you! I’m much better. If I could just stand up, I’d be perfect.”
Delamere came into the room. His glance fell on the healer’s stony face. “If Gwalaes thinks you ought to stay put, you ought to stay put.”
“Richard—”
“For God’s sake, Will, you nearly died!” Delamere exploded. “She’s the only one who knew what to do and you must follow her instructions completely!”
Longsword was taken aback by the vehemence in his friend’s voice. His eyes swiveled from one to the other. The girl, the one who saved his life, stared at the floor, her lips pressed into a straight, bloodless line. Delamere’s face bore an uncharacteristic glare.
“Fine,” he said grumpily. “If that’s what you want…”
Delamere helped him ease back onto his pillow. His face finally relaxed and he sat down on the stool by the bed. “I swear to God, Will; I never thought I’d speak to you again. The fever…”
“I can’t remember anything after Llanlleyn,” Longsword admitted. “But I feel fine! Richard, how much longer must I remain in bed? I want to see my men. And we’ve got work to do. Rhirid—”
“Rhirid can wait. Don’t worry; you’ll get your revenge. He isn’t going anywhere.” He grinned at his friend’s expression of frustrated ambition. The healer would have her hands full now, he thought. Longsword unconscious and thrashing about was light work compared to Longsword fully sensible and unable to do what he wanted to do. “I have an idea. We’ll have a feast tonight to celebrate your return to us. I know the men want to see you; everyone’s been asking after you. We’ll rig a chair or something and carry you down to the hall. How does that sound?”
“Great,” Longsword answered fervently.
Delamere turned to Gwalaes. “Is that all right with you?” he asked her in Welsh. “I think his recovery will be swifter if he can be with his men.”
She shrugged. “I can bind him up tightly so that he can’t move his head too much.”
There was a little silence and she glanced at him. He was staring intently at her and then suddenly he stood up. “Come out for a moment; I want a word with you.” He went to the doorway and waited for her to join him. She noticed he was frowning again. “What’s going on?” he demanded.
She was confused. “What do you mean? He wanted to get up. I said no; it’s too early yet. Sir Richard—”
“No!” he interrupted. “How did you come by your Norman French?”
She caught her breath. Why hadn’t she kept to Welsh? She stammered, “I—I don’t understand; the nuns—”
“You didn’t learn it at the abbey. I was there. I never heard the sisters speak anything but Welsh to their servants. Even among themselves it was mostly Welsh.” He watched her face. “Several days ago you addressed me in French and you just now spoke to Lord William in French. And you spoke it perfectly.”
She didn’t look at him. “I learned it at the abbey,” she said in a stubborn voice.
For a moment he didn’t respond. She could feel his eyes trying to burn right through her skull, to see what was in her head. “Very well,” he said finally. He brushed past her.
“Sir Richard, my daughter—” she said urgently.
He turned around. “What about her?”
“I would like to go back. We’ve never been separated and I’ve been away too long.”
“If you remember, I wanted to bring her here.”
“Yes, but—”
“As you said, Lord William isn’t yet fully recovered.”
“But Gladys—”
“I told you before, I don’t want her anywhere near him!”
Gladys hesitated in the stairwell. What if that hadn’t been him? What if he were still inside? She t
urned to leave and then stopped, scolding herself for cowardice. Of course that had been him! He’d been bareheaded; there couldn’t be two Normans so handsome. She had watched from her window as he’d called for his horse and a dozen men to accompany him. They had ridden through the gate and disappeared from her view. Of course he was gone.
And, anyway, she had the right to see Lord William, hadn’t she? She carried his child. And he would want to see her, to know that everything was all right with her. Yes, now that Lord William was conscious, she had nothing more to fear from Richard Delamere.
Before she could think any further, she climbed the remaining steps and nodded nervously to the guard at Longsword’s door. Act as if what you’re doing is normal, she told herself. Not for the first time did she feel the frustration of not being able to speak French. She would have liked to have commanded the guard to push open the door for her. But this turned out to be unnecessary because he pushed it in without being told. She was thrilled. Obviously Lord William had been asking for her.
Gwalaes was sitting up on a pallet to one side of the burning brazier, rolling strips of linen into tight wads.
“I’ve come to see Lord William,” Gladys told her in a defiant voice from the threshold.
Gwalaes looked amused. “Then come in. He’s still here.”
She knew! The slut knew why she had dared this visit. Gladys flushed. “You don’t have to look so smug!” she said angrily. “He can’t keep me out.”
“Who?”
“Sir Richard!”
Gladys glared at her. Gwalaes had done it on purpose—tricking her into admitting Sir Richard’s absence was the only reason she had dared to come to Lord William’s chamber.
“He might trust you, but I don’t!” she added. She went to Longsword’s bed. “Why should you care if Lord William lives or dies?”
Gwalaes put the bandages down and stood up. She studied Longsword over Gladys’ shoulder. “He fell asleep right after he had his breakfast,” she said. “Sir Richard is making a feast for him tonight and I told him he couldn’t go unless he slept all day. His mind is at full strength but his body is still very weak.”
“I suppose Sir Richard fell all over himself to thank you. He had no kind words for me when I cured Lord William after he was brought back from the abbey. But when Lord William broke open his wound at Llanlleyn and caught the fever, it was all my fault. He told me he would kill me.” She looked down at Longsword and smoothed a corner of his blanket. “He’s jealous of me.”
“Jealous?”
“Yes.” She turned to Gwalaes with a haughty expression. “I’ve done the one thing he can’t—I’ve got Lord William’s child inside me.”
“Oh…I see.”
“That’s the real reason he didn’t want me around Lord William, you know. He didn’t want Lord William to wake up cured and be forever in my debt. He can just send you back to the abbey but I’m staying here and he doesn’t want to compete with me for Lord William’s favor.” She sat comfortably on the edge of the bed and looked up at Gwalaes. “Why don’t you let me care for him until Sir Richard returns? If he’s only going to sleep…”
The chit didn’t answer right away and Gladys frowned. She shouldn’t have asked; she should have insisted. She had a position to uphold now but everyone would continue to treat her as usual if she didn’t assert herself.
She spoke again. “Yes, I think that’s a good idea, Gwalaes. You just show me what to do and then go out. He’ll be pleased when he awakens to my face.”
“Very well,” the other woman said reluctantly. She went to a side table, the surface of which was covered with bandages, bottles and jars and several shallow bowls. “If you come here, I’ll show you—”
“No. Bring it to me,” Gladys commanded imperiously. To her delight, it worked. After a slight hesitation, Gwalaes complied. Another thought struck Gladys. “Where did you learn to speak the Norman tongue?”
Gwalaes, as she was crossing the floor to the bed, stopped abruptly. “How do you know…”
“I heard you. The first night you were here. You turned on Sir Richard and said something to him in Norman and he said something back to you.”
“Oh…yes.” She was flustered. “I learned it from the nuns at the abbey, of course. They’re all Normans.”
“Did it take you long to learn?”
“I’ve been there almost all my life. I just picked it up, I suppose.”
“What I’m trying to say is, how long do you think it would take me to learn it?” Gladys asked impatiently. “I know a few words, a few phrases already.”
“I really couldn’t tell you. I suppose you have to keep listening and practicing.” She held out a jar. “Should I tell you what to do with this?”
“No.” Gladys glanced at it without interest. “Put it back. I don’t want you to go after all. I want you to teach me whatever Norman you can before Sir Richard sends you back to the abbey.”
While Delamere and the other Normans at Rhuddlan had prayed fervently for Longsword’s recovery, Teleri had waited just as anxiously for word of his death. His refusal to accede to her demand that Gladys be dismissed had turned an indifferent distaste for all Normans into an intense personal hatred of him and she had convinced herself that when he died she would be blessedly free. She would return to her uncle and he, being unable to argue with the fact that she had diligently done her duty, would grant her freedom to choose her next husband. Longsword had spoiled her dream with his initial convalescence but then fate had kindly granted her a second chance. It had been rumored that his condition was much graver this time.
But just when the situation couldn’t have looked any better for her, she learned that Delamere had brought in a woman claimed to be a miracle-worker. This woman had already cured Longsword once and the Normans had no doubt that she would do it again. The talk had made Teleri uneasy. Longsword just had to die! She thought she’d end up mad if she were forced to spend the rest of her life with a husband she detested, his servant mistress and their illegitimate children. For the first time, she cursed the vagary of fate which had made her female, and wished she was a man so she could simply jump on a horse and ride far away.
She’d held her breath but more bad news had followed. On the third day, Longsword was said to have opened his eyes and asked for wine. Her servants brought her all the gossip. The ones who understood some French were especially helpful although she suspected a tendency toward exaggeration. Apparently her husband’s speed of recovery was so miraculous, it seemed he’d soon be walking on water.
Worse yet, the whore Gladys was asserting herself once again. Her women had told her now that Longsword was fully conscious Gladys no longer hid in her chamber but went wherever she pleased with her personal attendant trailing behind her and her nose stuck up in the air. The chit was becoming dangerous, Teleri thought sourly; giving herself privileges and an authority which far exceeded her position. The handsome Sir Richard, who seemed to detest Gladys as much as she did, had managed to keep her in check during Longsword’s illness, but now…Teleri was not a little apprehensive that Gladys’ true aim was to replace her as de facto mistress of Rhuddlan by insinuating herself so deeply into Longsword’s life that he would be unable to get rid of her if he wanted. In a way, then, Gladys was more of a threat to her than Longsword; her husband possessed control of her life but Gladys could one day very well influence her status at Rhuddlan.
It was time to take matters into her own hands. She knew Sir Richard was planning a feast for the evening meal, to honor Longsword, and she knew that he had left the fortress in order to kill with his own hands the centerpiece of the board. Perhaps it wasn’t too late…Heart tight with anticipation, she ventured to Longsword’s chamber accompanied by two of her women.
The guard was lolling near one of the arrow slits in the outer wall of the stairwell, staring idly outside, but he snapped up straight when she and her entourage came up on him. She ignored him. The door to her husband’s outer roo
m stood open and she could hear voices coming from the bedchamber. One of them she recognized immediately as belonging to the slut, Gladys; she supposed the other belonged to the miracle-worker. She listened for a moment but they were discussing nothing of importance and she swept regally over the threshold.
The voices fell silent. Teleri could feel two pairs of eyes on her as she surveyed Longsword’s bedchamber. It was well-lit from the unshuttered windows although a trifle chilly. A table was spread with bandages and bowls and little jars. A generous fire burned in the brazier close by the bed and took the edge off the air. And then her studiously casual glance fell upon a tall young woman dressed in plain, dull brown standing opposite her. The famed healer? Teleri was disappointed. She’d expected a wizened old woman, a witch of some sort, not this young, nervous-looking girl.
“I’ve come to see Lord William,” she said coolly.
She noted with amusement that the miracle-worker seemed awed by her, as well she should. The poor thing looked like she hadn’t slept since her arrival, her hair was falling out of its braid and her clothing was stained and spotted with blood and medicines. In contrast, Teleri wore an expensive scarlet surcoat of fine brocade, embroidered with gold thread in swirling patterns. Her long, dark reddish hair had been brushed until it shone, left unbound and capped with a sheer, pale veil and a golden circlet. Her tapered fingers were capped with clean, white-tipped nails and the perfume of the lavender with which she had scented her bath almost defeated the sick smell of the chamber. She exuded cleanliness and wealth. She was impressive.
She looked at Gladys, who had risen from her seat on the bed and was trying not to appear nervous. “What are you doing here, slut?”
Gladys thrust her chin up in a valiant effort to match Teleri’s calm assurance. “I have the right to visit Lord William, my lady,” she said, but her voice faltered on the last few syllables.
Teleri laughed mockingly and pointed to her husband. “While he lies there, insensible, you have no rights at all, slut.”
Gladys flushed. “When he finds out—”
The other woman laughed again, greatly amused. “How? Can you tell me just how he will find out?”
Gladys opened her mouth and closed it. Her hands twisted around each other nervously.
Teleri tired of the game. “Leave.”
Gladys fled.
Teleri considered the miracle-worker. “I wasn’t told your name.”
“Gwalaes, my lady.”
“Gwalaes,” Teleri repeated. She moved towards the bed and stared down impassively at her husband. “How is Lord William? I heard you worked a miracle and brought him back from the brink of death.”
“If there was a miracle it wasn’t I but God who worked it, my lady,” the woman answered.
“How pretty,” Teleri said, her lip curling. “So, there’s every indication of a complete recovery, then?”
“Yes, my lady. He just needs time. Although with him, perhaps not too much time. Already this morning he wanted to get out of bed and test his legs.”
Teleri left the bed and wandered to the table, feeling irritated. He just couldn’t die, could he? She picked up various jars, peered without interest inside them and put them down again. If it weren’t for him, her life wouldn’t be so miserable. It was all very unfair. She blamed the Welsh, too; whoever had shot him ought to have had better aim. And her uncle, of course, who had dropped her in this mess. It was time she took charge of her own life.
She turned decisively to the miracle-worker, whom she considered the only person who now stood between her and happiness.
“Why are you doing this?” she demanded.
“Doing what, my lady?” Gwalaes asked, confused.
“This—saving Normans!” Teleri answered with a dismissive gesture toward Longsword. “You ought to just let him die!”
The stupid girl actually looked shocked. “My lady?”
“They’re our enemy, Gwalaes! They invade our land, kill our men…And that one lying so helplessly in bed is one of the worst! Surely you’ve heard about the horror he inflicted on the innocent people of Llanlleyn, how he attacked the fortress and burned it to the ground! God knows how many people were killed—women and children unspared! They all bragged about it when they came back with their bloodied swords. And now you’ve cured him of his fever and he’ll soon recover his strength and he’ll go out and do it again! Others will die and it will be your fault! Can you understand that?”
Gwalaes’ face was pale. “Sir Richard never said…”
“He wouldn’t, would he? He isn’t an idiot. He knew you would never consent to help if he told you the truth.”
Gwalaes’ eyes flicked uncertainly towards the man on the bed. “I—I didn’t know…”
“And if you had known? What would you have done then?”
“I don’t know, my lady. I—I have a child. Sir Richard threatened to hold her hostage for my skills.”
Teleri nodded. “Ah, yes. The Normans have no love for children. He would probably have lopped her head off if you’d refused to help. Where is she?”
“At the abbey, my lady. He agreed to leave her there when I said I would come.”
Teleri gave the miracle-worker a measured look. “So she’s safe…Maybe, then, it’s not too late,” she said.
“What do you mean?”
“Well…maybe there’s something that you’re supposed to do for Lord William that you won’t. Or,” she made a motion towards the table, “maybe you can give him a concoction that will worsen his condition instead of curing it. Surely there’s some potion among these that can do the trick.”
“That would be murder!” Gwalaes breathed.
Teleri lifted her fine eyebrows. “No,” she said calmly. “Retribution. He killed innocent people, Gwalaes; even children. I’m not making this up—ask Gladys to tell you the story. If he survives, he’ll kill again. You can count on it. Would you like to have that on your conscience?” The miracle-worker looked suitably horrified. “It was a bad wound, Gwalaes,” she continued persuasively. “You must have been surprised when you were able to heal him the first time. And everyone knows how much worse he was this time. No one, not even Sir Richard, expected him to live. If he died now, they’d all nod and say they’d known all along he wouldn’t come through.”
“But Sir Richard has seen for himself that Lord William’s doing better, my lady,” the other woman protested. “If something ill happens now, he’ll think I must have done it deliberately.”
“Why you?”
Gwalaes looked blank. Teleri turned to her women and bade one of them to bring Gladys back.
Comprehension suffused the miracle-worker’s face. “My lady, I couldn’t—”
“Why not? What’s she to you?”
“But she told me she’s pregnant with Lord William’s child—”
“Stop worrying, Gwalaes! She almost killed him once before and Sir Richard merely considered her inept, not a would-be murderer. Gwalaes—” she spoke more loudly as the other woman started to protest, “—just try to remember all the evil that’s come out of this man and others like him. He’s their leader; if we cut him down, the others will have no choice but to crawl back to England.”
The healer looked miserable but didn’t say anything. Teleri watched her, pleased with herself and the argument she’d made. Of course she knew she was exaggerating the assault on Llanlleyn but that only made the argument more compelling.
Gladys entered the room warily. Teleri gave her a wide smile.
“You’re going to get a second chance, Gladys!” she said brightly. “We’re leaving you to tend to Lord William on your own. Gwalaes is coming back to my chamber. I’ve had such bad headaches lately and she says she’s got something to help me. She tell you what salves to slather on Lord William’s neck and what potions to slip down his throat when he opens his mouth to snore…”
“Thank you, my lady.” Gladys’ face was filled with happiness. She turned to Gwalaes expectan
tly.
Gwalaes appealed once more to Teleri. “I don’t think—”
“Please! My headache…” Teleri touched a hand to her forehead. “I can’t argue anymore, Gwalaes. Sir Richard won’t be back for hours; he’ll never know if Gladys was here.”
“He doesn’t have the right to keep me out!” Gladys asserted.
The miracle-worker looked from one to the other. The obvious indecision was maddening to Teleri but she tried to appear calm. If her plan succeeded, her two worst enemies would disappear from her life. Sir Richard would murder Gladys if Longsword turned up dead and she was considered directly responsible. He would probably murder the miracle-worker as well, but there were some things over which Teleri had no control.
Finally Gwalaes made up her mind. She picked up a jug of wine in one hand and a tightly covered jar in the other. She beckoned to Gladys. “Let me show you how to infuse these leaves to make a drink for Lord William…”