Chapter 42
May, 1177
Hawarden, Gwynedd
Roger of Haworth climbed onto the parapet, leaned his arms against the ledge and looked towards the south. Northern Powys was there, made invisible by distance but as firm and real as the land upon which Hawarden stood. He couldn’t see anything except the seemingly endless forest but he stared, anyway, and wished desperately for Gruffudd ap Madog and a full complement of battle-hungry warriors to burst into the cleared land below.
The south. That was where the future lay, if only Hugh were not too stubborn to admit it. Instead, the earl harped on Rhuddlan and the Bastard—and chided Haworth for harping on Gruffudd. It was obvious Hugh did not plan to deal with Gruffudd any time soon; that was why Haworth desired the Welshman to come north and force the earl’s hand. But after the shock Gruffudd had received the last time he was in Gwynedd, it didn’t appear he was in much of a hurry to confront his enemy again either, despite Haworth’s wishes.
Hugh’s current concern was producing a male heir. It was a subject even more compelling than the Bastard, if the number of nights Haworth had been shut out of his master’s bed chamber was anything to go on. He was becoming a familiar face in the barracks, where he was well-regarded by the other men, but the enforced abstinence was beginning to chafe on him. Never before in his life had he been jealous of a woman but it had come to that now. He was at times surly towards Hugh and at others plaintive. Perhaps, he’d grumbled one day to Hugh, it simply wasn’t the season for a woman to become pregnant and the earl should stop trying for a month or two.
Hugh had had a good laugh at that and even though it was at his expense, Haworth was perversely pleased that he wasn’t being dismissed with a curt word or a burst of angry language. Well, he maintained, it might be true; animals gave birth at certain seasons, why not a woman? Hugh explained the difference, but Haworth heard nothing as he found himself mesmerized by Hugh’s mouth. And a glance at his eyes proved him happy and relaxed. Haworth was faintly puzzled that a woman could bring his master such contentment, especially the charmless Eleanor Bolsover, but he was too resentful to actually question it.
And then there was Ralph de Vire. Haworth knew the earl liked the young knight because of his resemblance to Robert Bolsover. Hugh was capable of speaking with him at such length at supper that occasionally the entire meal would pass by and he would not have spoken to anyone else, including Haworth. As a result of this attention, de Vire strutted around Hawarden with an overly familiar attitude which Haworth detested, although so far the younger man had wisely kept out of his way.
Haworth was disgruntled. The peace he and the earl had enjoyed before the arrivals of the countess and de Vire no longer existed. Eleanor he dismissed as a temporary problem; once she became pregnant, Hugh would have no further need of her. But de Vire seemed to be the kind of problem which could only get worse, and Haworth felt powerless to get rid of him. De Vire wasn’t simply some anonymous man-at-arms. He saw Hugh every day and he sat at Hugh’s table every night. Haworth suspected that if he attempted to transfer de Vire to a different holding, the young knight would complain to the earl and Hugh would not permit it.
It wasn’t long before he discovered that he was not the only one suspicious of the relationship between the two. There were rumors. He sat one night in the barracks, as usual slightly apart from the other men, cleaning his sword and only half-listening to the increasingly boiserous conversation before him. Most of the men were drinking and in the beginning told stories which may or may not have been true and whose sole purpose seemed to be to inspire an even taller tale from the next speaker. When the novelty of the contest wore off, they turned to discussing the members of their set who were not there with them. Eventually, they remarked upon Ralph de Vire, pronouncing him fair enough with weapons but rather stand-offish in personal relations. It was to be expected, one man said; de Vire hadn’t been with them long and he was still feeling his way around. Yes, another man snickered; that explained why he spent so much time with the earl.
Suddenly, there was dead silence in the room. Haworth wasn’t fully aware of what had been said but when he realized the silence had to do with him, he recalled the knight’s words and their implication and he looked up from his work to find that everyone’s face was studiously averted. He stood up and carefully replaced his sword in his belt, and then left the barracks.
The night air had a slight edge and he could smell the tang of a wood fire in it. There was a new moon; the sky was mostly dark but for pinholes of light here and there. The bailey was full of shadows because of it, although high torches had been planted in the ground in various spots to facilitate travel. He was halfway up the steps to the motte before he realized where he was headed, and he stopped. He couldn’t very well burst in on Hugh and demand to know if the person in his bed were truly Eleanor Bolsover. A small light flickered in his chamber and Haworth stared at it longingly until it blurred. He stood still on the steps and watched the light until, finally, it went out…
After a sleepless night, he found himself again on the steps to the motte. This time, he climbed them resolutely, buoyed by the persuasiveness of the arguments he’d had with himself when he couldn’t sleep. He’d been with the earl for years, far longer than Bolsover or de Vire, and his devotion and allegiance deserved an explanation. At the top of the motte, he paused and looked at the keep, to Hugh’s window; it was unshuttered to let in the summer breezes as it had been the night before. Without further hesitation, he entered the keep. Servants setting up the trestle tables for breakfast gave him blank looks. He went up the winding stair to the second storey. There was no guard on Hugh’s door; that was as it should have been, because if someone were to guard the earl’s sleep, it could only be Haworth. He lifted his hand and rapped harshly on the door. When there was no answer, he rapped again even more loudly, lifted the latch and walked in.
“Who is it?” Hugh’s voice demanded, irritated and displeased.
Haworth paused briefly in the antechamber to allow his eyes to adjust to the gloomy light and proceeded to the bedchamber, which was better lit from the outside window. “It’s me,” he said.
“Roger?” Looking rumpled and barely awake, Hugh pushed himself up onto his elbows and squinted towards the door. “What’s wrong?”
“Where is he?”
“Who, for God’s sake?”
“De Vire!”
“Sir Ralph?” Hugh yawned and twisted his neck from side to side until it cracked loudly. “Why would he be here?”
Haworth’s anger deflated. De Vire was not in evidence. He and the earl were the room’s only occupants. “I’m looking for him…” he said lamely.
“Yes? So, why do you look for him here? Have you tried the barracks? Where all the men sleep?”
“But I was there myself all night and he never came in!”
Hugh leaned back into his pillow and stared up at the wooden ceiling. “Well, I don’t know what to tell you, Roger. Perhaps he’s got a young woman somewhere.”
“A woman!” Haworth exclaimed as if the possibility were a novel idea. But it was one he liked. “A woman…” he mused.
The earl frowned at him. “I don’t know what’s gotten into you lately, Roger! You’ve been acting very strangely—like this preoccupation with Ralph de Vire.”
“It isn’t a preoccupation, my lord!” Haworth protested. “I’m sorry! It’s only that I hardly see you. You rarely speak with me.” His voice dropped and his tone was earnest. “I never stay with you anymore.”
Hugh made a noise of irritation and shoved back the bedcovers. He swung his legs over the edge of the bed and glared up at his captain. “Roger, we’ve discussed this many times! You know I need an heir!”
“Yes, my lord, but Lady Eleanor doesn’t stay the night! I could—”
“Could what? Am I supposed to send a man to fetch you whenever I’m through with my wife? To be honest, Roger, it takes so much out of me that I tend to fall asleep as soon as she goes
.” He stood up. “Since you’ve woken me, you can help me dress.”
It didn’t seem right that a woman should have any claim to that, Haworth thought as he stared at Hugh’s naked body. “You always look so beautiful in the morning, my lord,” he said hoarsely.
“I have a busy day ahead, Roger,” the earl responded neutrally. “Bring me a shirt.” When Haworth turned away, he added, “You know your trouble, Roger? You need a diversion. You saw so much activity at Rhuddlan that quiet Hawarden isn’t thrilling enough for you now. Why don’t you pay a visit to Chester? Check the accounts. I barely trusted de Gournay when I lived there, I trusted him less when I discovered he was informing my mother of my every move and since finding Eleanor I don’t trust him at all. I still don’t believe she made it to Rhuddlan on her own and he always had a weak spot for her.”
Haworth stopped abruptly in the process of passing a tunic and hose to Hugh, alarmed. “I don’t want to go to Chester, my lord.”
“Fine! I was only thinking of you…”
“But if you’re so concerned about your accounts, why don’t you send de Vire? I’ve heard he can read and write like a cleric.”
The proposal seemed to anger Hugh. “Why are you always harping on de Vire? It’s as if you’re jealous of him!”
“I don’t think I would begrudge you your time with the countess if the rest of it wasn’t taken up with Ralph de Vire,” Haworth said. He knelt down at Hugh’s feet and took up his boots.
“And I’ve told you the reason I must speak to Sir Ralph. We are discussing Rhuddlan.”
Hugh tugged his tunic down impatiently and sat on the edge of the bed. He stuck out a leg and Haworth pushed a boot onto his foot and cross-gartered the hose to his leg. The feel of the taut muscles beneath his hands was almost mind-numbing. But his resentment of de Vire was overpowering. “Three weeks of discussing Rhuddlan…” he muttered.
“Oh?” Hugh said sharply, snatching back his leg and putting out his other one so violently that it narrowly missed striking Haworth in the nose. “It’s either Rhuddlan with de Vire or Powys with you and I’m sick of Powys!”
Haworth looked up at him with a pained expression. “But—”
“But nothing!” the earl interrupted angrily. “Listen to me, Roger—the Welsh bother you? Well, I’m bothered, too, but not by the same man. I’m bothered by Rhirid ap Maelgwyn. He was supposed to be our ally against the Bastard; I gave him horses and weapons, and damned fine ones at that! All I asked in return was Richard Delamere’s whore and perhaps a strategic arrow sent in the Bastard’s direction. And what have I got? Nothing! This is what you ought to be concerning yourself with—not Gruffudd of Powys, who might have cut his throat while shaving last month, which would explain why he hasn’t turned up recently! Not Gruffudd, but Rhirid ap Maelgwn!”
Rhirid revived on the hurried ride back to Llanlleyn to find himself slumped in a very undignified posture in Dylan ab Owain’s arms. His head throbbed and the ground spun but he insisted on being transferred to his own horse for the remainder of the journey. “What happened to William Longsword?” he asked his champion hoarsely, once this change had been effected.
The other man shook his head. “Nothing, Rhirid. He lives. But we fought well! It was an even match and I think we surprised them.”
But Rhirid was in too much pain to feel pleased with a draw. He cursed the vagary of fate which had sent his horse’s foreleg crashing down on his head, certain that he could have killed Longsword and put their feud to rest at last. He was suddenly tired of it. So tired…
By the time they reached Llanlleyn, the daylight was waning. The rain had settled into an unabating, steady rhythm and everyone was glad to see the torches blazing in the covered platform by the gate where the look-out stood and shouted down to those inside that the men had returned. Despite the weather, the welcoming was crowded and boisterous.
Rhirid ordered a feast and scanned the crowd briefly for Olwen before the ache and dizziness in his head overcame him. He barely made it standing to the chief’s house and to a corner of privacy, clenching his jaw and counting every step of the way. He collapsed in a chair and fought nausea while attendants stripped him of his battle gear and his healer studied him thoughtfully and gave him something bitter to drink. Noise swirled all around him, addling wits dulled by pain and the herb drink. Through the confusion, he saw Goewyn standing hesitantly to one side, apparently reluctant to enter the press of men; he saw Dylan go to her and bend his head to hear her words and then he saw the pair of them look at him.
After what appeared to be a short argument, Dylan returned to his side. “My wife would like to speak to you. Privately, if possible. She won’t tell me what it’s about. I tried to convince her it was a bad time but you know how insistent she can be.”
Whatever Goewyn wanted, it was a fortuitous interruption; Rhirid raised his voice as loudly as he was able and ordered everyone out. He gestured for Goewyn to approach.
For the moment, his throbbing head was forgotten. He had never seen Goewyn as she appeared to him now: pale and uncertain, barely able to look him in the eye, nervously twisting a small, damp square of cloth in her hands. He felt a shudder of premonition. “What’s wrong?” he demanded, half-rising from his seat. “What’s happened to Olwen?”
Goewyn raised her head and he saw that her eyes were red-rimmed. “She’s gone, lord,” she said in a rising voice. “She’s been taken.”
“Taken?” Dylan exclaimed.
“There were three of them, lord! Normans! There was nothing I could do!”
Rhirid and Dylan exchanged a glance. “Normans were here?” the chief asked harshly. “Are you certain?” When Goewyn nodded, he added, “Did they say who they were? Where they were from?”
“The earl of Chester, lord.”
Rhirid sat down again. His head spun.
“How could they have found us, Rhirid?” Dylan asked in disbelief. “Even William Longsword hasn’t been able to find us.”
“The better question is how did they manage to get in!” Rhirid said angrily. “Three Normans stroll up to the gate and are simply admitted? They seize a woman under my protection and stroll right out again? Who was supposed to be watching out?”
“They didn’t come inside, lord,” Goewyn said.
The two men looked at her. “Well?” Rhirid prompted sharply when she hesitated.
She exhaled shakily. “We were summoned, Olwen and I, to the wood. They were there. One of them spoke to her in that foreign tongue and she said something in return. On it went for a while and then she turned to me and said she must go with these men or they would return with a large army, burn Llanlleyn to the ground and kill all of us. She begged me to look after her children. She said she would be all right but she had to leave immediately. It was urgent and she wasn’t even able to say goodbye to her boys.”
“And you’re sure they were from the earl and not Rhuddlan?” Dylan asked.
“Yes, I’m sure!” Goewyn answered shrilly. “Olwen told me so!”
“If they were from Rhuddlan, they would have taken the children,” Rhirid said shortly. “And Lady Teleri as well, no doubt.”
A sob caught in Goewyn’s throat and he glanced at her curiously. He would never have imagined she could be so affected by anything. And it was strange, too, that she—invariably deferential but imperious; self-assured and self-righteous—was avoiding his gaze.
“I have the feeling, Goewyn,” he said softly, “that you’re not telling me something. What did you mean when you said you and Olwen were summoned? Who summoned you? It couldn’t have been the Normans because you didn’t know they were in the wood until you got there.”
There was a moment of hesitation, and then she nodded slowly. She dabbed at her eyes with the square of cloth and finally raised her head. Her expression was worried but resolute and he had the sinking feeling he wouldn’t like what he was about to hear.
Her voice was low. “Lord Rhirid, against your wishes, we plotted,” sh
e said. “The three of us, Olwen, Lady Teleri and I. We plotted to sneak Lady Teleri out of Llanlleyn—”
“What?” Dylan roared. “Were you out of your mind?”
She darted her husband a nervous glance out of the corners of her eyes but appealed to Rhirid. “We all had different motives, lord; Lady Teleri wanted to go home to the Perfeddwlad, Olwen wanted to end your feud with Rhuddlan and I wanted to save Llanlleyn from a second destruction. I found a man willing to escort Lady Teleri to the prince and they left this morning on your heels—”
“Who is this person?” Dylan demanded, his face red with anger. He stepped close to his wife, towering over her. “Who is he? I’ll kill him myself!”
“He isn’t here, Dylan! He’s gone! The three of them are gone!”
“From the first day you were determined to treat Lady Teleri unkindly! How could you—”
Rhirid held up his hand. “Enough, Dylan! Recriminations may come later. First I want to hear this story.” He looked at Goewyn. “Are you saying Lady Teleri was taken by the Normans as well?”
She nodded miserably. “We were betrayed, lord. To our surprise, the man turned up in the women’s house this afternoon, dripping with rain and very agitated. He told Olwen and me that we must come down to the wood. We had to hurry, it was urgent that we get to the wood right away. Of course we thought something terrible had happened to Lady Teleri and off we went. The man led us; kept telling us to hurry, hurry, hurry. He wouldn’t say what was wrong no matter how often we asked him and after a while we were so winded from rushing down the hillside and across the fields that we couldn’t even ask anymore…”
She took another breath. “When we got there, we saw three Norman soldiers on horseback. Lady Teleri was with them. Olwen recognized one of the men immediately; I heard her gasp and when I looked at her, she was staring white-faced at him. He spoke to her and she grew paler and paler. I myself was so frightened I was shaking like a leaf. Then Olwen told me what the soldier had said to her, what I already told you…and…and off they went.” She fell silent.
Rhirid was silent, too. He didn’t know if it was because he was so tired that he wasn’t outraged over Goewyn’s interference or because he was numb inside. His setbacks seemed insurmountable. Both his hostages and possibly his best chance to defeat Longsword in battle lost. Now he had no leverage and had made an enemy of a more powerful man than the custodian of Rhuddlan.
But worse than any of this: Olwen had been taken away. He had failed to protect her and that made him no better than her Norman consort. He wondered what Chester would do with her. She wasn’t nearly as important a hostage as Teleri and practically disposable.
“I swear to God, Goewyn, I warned you to keep out of Rhirid’s business, didn’t I?” Dylan said, unable to keep silent, breaking in on his thoughts. “Now the earl of Chester knows where we are—he could bring Lady Teleri and Olwen back to Rhuddlan and then he and Lord William could both send their armies against us! What chance will we stand? And you say you want to save Llanlleyn!”
For the first time in Rhirid’s memory, her husband’s words caused panic in Goewyn. She turned to Rhirid and pleaded frantically, “I’m truly sorry for what happened, lord! You must believe me! I would never have done it if I’d even imagined it might turn out this way!”
He felt drained; there wasn’t even a spark of anger inside him to ignite against her. He looked blandly into her anxious, tear-stained face and told her to attend to the feast.
He watched her walk across the length of the chief’s house to the entrance and suddenly called her name. “I have a question,” he said when she turned around. “If your plan had succeeded as you’d wanted, how did you ever hope to explain Lady Teleri’s disappearance to me?”
He couldn’t see her expression through the murky distance but he heard her shaky laugh. “I wasn’t even going to try, lord,” she said wryly. “Olwen would have done it.”