Chapter 52
June, 1178
Rhuddlan, Gwynedd
Sometime during the night, the wind picked up and thick and fast-moving clouds invaded the sky, and Roger of Haworth woke to a gloomy morning and the threat of imminent rain.
It wasn’t a far distance from the quiet, fireless camp he and his men had made the evening before to Rhuddlan, for Hugh had expressly instructed them to arrive early, and as long as the rain held off there was no impulse to hurry, so the soldiers from Hawarden moved at an easy pace along the road. Two of Haworth’s scouts had found the camp the night before and delivered the news that Rhuddlan’s army was indeed on its way to Llanlleyn. The plan was proceeding exactly as he and Hugh had concocted it; there wasn’t any reason to push the men.
He felt the uncomfortable quiver of unease when they finally came upon the fortress and the rain began. It was an ill omen, he thought, a belief that was reinforced when he saw the gate was shut tight. According to their scheme, Hugh had told him it would be open and he could walk straight in. He forced himself to relax; of course there was a sensible explanation for the discrepancy.
He wiped rain off his face. He gestured to his entourage to halt and then he walked his horse forward and hailed the guards. “Sir Roger of Haworth to see Earl Hugh!”
There was shouting within the fortress but he wasn’t near enough to hear the actual words. The gate did not open. A new man, bareheaded, appeared in the left tower. Haworth recognized him as Guy Lene.
“Sir Roger!” he called down in a grave voice. “A bad day for travelling.”
“Will you open the gate to us, Sir Guy?” Haworth responded, a little bewildered. “We have urgent business with the earl.”
“It’s strange that you think to find the earl of Chester at Rhuddlan, Sir Roger. Stranger still that he was here yesterday, having discovered the body of one of our men not far away and kindly returning him to us. But he left this morning.”
“Left?” echoed Haworth. “He’s gone?”
“Yes, Sir Roger. Before the rain.”
Haworth did not know what to do. He thought back quickly but couldn’t remember any part of the plan which involved Hugh leaving Rhuddlan before his arrival. An idea came to him. He lifted his head. “What about Lady Teleri? Can I see her?”
“I’m sorry, Sir Roger, but the lady went with the earl. Apparently she had a wish to visit her uncle and the earl very kindly agreed to escort her.”
Haworth didn’t like the way Lene repeated the word kindly. It didn’t sound as if the man thought either action kindly at all. Something wasn’t right. In a firmer voice, he said, “Perhaps we may come in and rest a while, Sir Guy. The rain has exhausted us. We were to meet up with the earl around Rhuddlan, this being the halfway point to the Perffeddwlad, but obviously he’s gone ahead. If we could partake of your hospitality until this storm passes, you would be doing us a great service.”
He watched as Lene looked over him and observed the mass of knights, archers and footment assembled at his back. He didn’t expect Lene to agree and he wasn’t disappointed.
“I’m sorry, Sir Roger,” Lene told him, “but we can’t possibly accommodate such a large force within the fortress. However, if you yourself wish to come in, I can provide you with a few skins of wine and rounds of bread to bring out.”
Haworth wasn’t fool enough to be taken in by that one. “Let me pass your messages along to my men, Sir Guy, and I will return to speak with you.”
He wheeled his horse around, his mind racing furiously. The plan had failed and Hugh was in danger. Someone had given it away and when he discovered who…But there wasn’t time for that now. First, on the very slim chance Lene was telling the truth, he could attempt to verify one claim. He gestured to a knight with a particularly swift horse. “They say the earl left at dawn with the lady. Take the road west and see if you find them. They don’t have much of a headstart and they must be forced to travel slow if they’ve got Lady Teleri’s women and baggage. Do you understand what I’m saying? Go far enough that you estimate you would have come across them if they were truly on the road and then fly back here. I’m betting you’ll find no one.” He jerked his head in the direction of Rhuddlan. “I’m betting the earl is still in there.”
And if, somehow, Guy Lene had uncovered the plan, then he would know also that the story about Llanlleyn was false. He would know that Warin fitz Maurice and the others would have to be recalled as urgently as possible to stave off the threat that was now standing before the walls of Rhuddlan. That messenger, or messengers, had to be intercepted before he reached Llanlleyn.
Richard Delamere felt lower than he’d ever felt. He glanced at Longsword, riding sullenly ahead of him. Longsword was angry with what he considered Delamere’s foot-dragging, which now resulted in their soggy travel. Delamere loved Longword as he loved no other man; they’d been close friends for more than half their lives and the only times they’d been separated were those days he’d spent with Olwen and his sons at their manor. He’d thought, only a year ago, that he could juggle his two lives, but he couldn’t. And when the time had come to choose between the two, he’d chosen the wrong one.
He thought he’d done it for Longsword, whom he considered unable to properly look after himself, but after a year of reflection—endless, agonizing reflection—he concluded that he’d really done it for his own benefit. He was young, strong and active and he’d wanted to spend most of his time with similar men and that had meant being at Rhuddlan and not his manor. He’d wanted the comfort of hearing his own language and he hadn’t sufficient experience with small children and infants to be comfortable with his own sons. He’d preferred being Longsword’s captain to the unfamiliar role of landowner…
Olwen had never complained, not one word of reproach, until that day she’d come to retrieve little William. And he—caught off-guard and before his year of reflection—had dismissed her complaint with unblinking matter-of-factness. He realized now that she’d had her own year of reflection long before his.
He reined abruptly to a halt. “Will!”
Up ahead, Longsword turned in the saddle and then brought his horse to a stop. He walked back to Delamere and raised his eyebrows questioningly.
“I’m turning off here,” Delamere said. “I’m going to Llanlleyn.”
Longsword’s sullen expression disappeared. He looked surprised. “Why?”
“What kind of a question is that? To see Olwen, of course! And my boys.”
A drop of rain splashed onto Longsword’s cheek and he sneezed. He stared down the road for a moment and Delamere thought angrily that he was trying to come up with an argument against such a plan.
“Richard, we’re almost home—”
“You go on, Will,” he interrupted. After all he’d done for his friend, including abandoning the only woman he’d ever truly loved, he couldn’t believe Longsword would still pathetically try to cling to him.
“I will, of course,” Longsword answered, his voice, as usual when confronted by an indignant Delamere, cautious. “I only meant that you might want to get a hot meal in you and have a bath before you visit her. We could send a messenger to prepare your way. It would give you time to consider your words—”
Delamere laughed harshly. “I’ve done nothing but consider my words since the day we left Angoulême. I know exactly what I want to say.”
Longsword nodded, conceding the point, and for an instant, Delamere felt his anger soar. Of course he’d brooded but how dare Longsword make him feel guilty about it when he was the direct cause of the crisis.
“Richard, we’ve been away for some time. We don’t know how things stand…It might be dangerous. Fitz Maurice can let us know.”
“I don’t want to wait any longer, Will!” Delamere exploded. “I’ve been waiting for months now! If Rhirid shoots an arrow into me before I’ve passed under his gate, so be it!” He took a deep breath, exhaled and added in a calmer voice, “Do I have your permission?”
“
I’ll come with you.”
“No. You’d only complicate matters.”
Longsword took that meekly. He shrugged and picked up the slack in his reins. “Good luck, then.”
He kicked his horse into a trot and rode away. He refused to look back at Delamere, who had probably already disappeared, anyway. He didn’t know what Delamere expected to happen at Llanlleyn but he’d meant it when he’d said good luck. Life was definitely easier when Delamere was in a good mood.
After a short time, he slowed the horse to a walk. The rain persisted and he thought to be careful with the leggy animal. He couldn’t get any wetter and every time he looked up the road, water splashed into his eyes. He pulled off his riding gloves because the leather was soaked and clinging tightly to his hands and because it was easier to rub the rain out of his eyes with his bare fingers. The tunic under his hauberk was soaked, too, and heavy and his boots kept slipping in the stirrups. The last thing he needed was a lamed horse.
The ground began to slope gently downward as he entered the valley and the heavy foliage that had lined the road thinned for the moment. He paused and squinted across the grand expanse but couldn’t see the fortress which sat on a low rise opposite him. In the winter, when the trees were bare, it was plainly visible…it was odd to think that he hadn’t seen it in nearly a year and he was strangely remorseful that he’d left it.
Before it, the river Clwyd looked grey in the grey, misty weather and almost indistinct from the surrounding land. Another drop of rain trickled down his face, causing him to sneeze again and shaking him from his reverie. Hot food, that’s what he wanted most. But just as he was about to click his tongue to his horse, a strange movement in the otherwise still countryside caught his eye and after a moment he realized it was a pair of mounted men coming up the very road upon which he rode.
Despite the weather, the men were riding fast. Longsword sat on his horse and watched them curiously, thinking they must be from Rhuddlan and wondering who they were. He pushed the coif back from his head so they would recognize him.
The one in the lead suddenly shouted back to his companion and Longsword knew he’d been spotted. He waited for them to reach him because he knew they’d want to greet him and welcome him back after such a long time away. But to his surprise, the lead knight blew by him without a glance, disturbing his horse so that he had to fight briefly to bring it under control. He cursed. Something wasn’t right. The man obviously wasn’t from Rhuddlan, wasn’t one of his.
Before he could figure it out, the second knight reached him. This one, however, reined in and stared at him from a short distance. Despite the helmet which obscured his face, Longsword knew he, too, wasn’t one of his men.
He pulled his sword. “What’s going on?” he demanded.
The knight didn’t answer. Instead, seeing that Longsword was prepared to fight, he drew his own sword, suddenly spurred his mount and jumped forward.
Longsword went to meet him, keeping to the left of the trail, holding his sword out at an angle in preparation to slash at him as they passed. But an instant before the horses were to pass, Longsword jerked his mount to the right and passed the sword to his left hand in one smooth movement. As his adversary cut down into empty air, Longsword pushed sideways into his stallion and swiped at the beast’s neck. The animal was startled and with a shrill noise skipped to its right, throwing its rider off balance. The pair was already precariously close to the verge and when the horse lost its footing, the knight went tumbling down into the underbrush.
What the hell was happening? he thought wildly. The man had been prepared to kill him. Something was terribly wrong.
He jerked on the reins and turned his horse in the direction which they’d just traveled, urging the animal to a greater speed despite the slick road. His quarry was ahead of him, growing larger in his view as his swifter mount closed the gap between them.
He leaned over his horse’s neck as it ran, his long, straight sword held close by his knee. His adversary had the misfortune to be less favorably mounted and although the slope wasn’t sharp, the horse had already been charging uphill since leaving the valley and was winded. Longsword’s heels clamped down hard in the stirrups. He raised himself a little, to steady his aim and to give more force to his blow. His arm came up and slightly out. And then the point of his blade caught the knight neatly between his shoulders. The man’s arms flung outwards involuntarily, his body arched and Longsword drove the sword in further until the tip broke through his chest. His large horse plowed into the other and knocked it down. He tried to pull back his sword but it would not come out as easily as it had gone in and in those few seconds that momentum kept his horse going forward he should have let it go but he didn’t. When the other horse fell, screaming, and the dead knight fell with it, Longsword was pulled off his stallion and landed on the both of them.
He extricated himself from the tangle and whooped aloud. What a mighty feat! Then the exertion caught up with him and he doubled over, his hands on his knees, rain coursing off his head, and waited for his heart to stop pounding and his breathing to slow.
He jerked his head up suddenly, still panting. He’d heard the unmistakable sound of hoofbeats. He looked down the road, saw his first opponent racing towards him and cursed himself for not killing the horse. He scrambled for his sword, still in the dead man’s back, and tugged desperately on the grip.
“Stay down, Will!” a voice shouted and he ducked low as Richard Delamere’s horse leapt over him. A moment later, Delamere attacked and the noise of clashing swords rang over the sound of the rain. Longsword finally pulled his own sword free and ran to join them but he was in danger of being trampled by four pairs of hooves and spent as much time avoiding the horses as he did slashing at the attacker. Finally, Delamere’s sword landed on the man’s helmet, stunning him into immobility, and Longsword reached up with his left arm, snagged a handful of the man’s hauberk and gave him a jerk so violent that he slipped out of the saddle and onto him. As the knight tried to rise his elbow knocked into Longsword’s face and Longsword responded with a forceful push. The man gained his feet and turned on Longsword with his weapon. Longsword rolled out of harm’s way but his boots could find no purchase on the wet ground and when the man descended on him again, he could only hold his sword out, squint against the rain and pray but his adversary never struck. Delamere had come up behind him and jabbed his sword into his back.
The man was dead. Both of the men were dead. Longsword, however, was too tired to feel the same elation he’d felt earlier. He lay on the ground, breathing heavily, at last grateful for the rain which cooled his face. Delamere loomed suddenly in his field of vision. He removed his helmet. “Can’t stay out of trouble, can you?” he remarked.
“They attacked me first, Richard! At least, the other one did. Who are they?” Longsword asked. He sat up slowly.
Delamere tugged at the first knight’s helmet until it popped off. “I don’t know for certain, but I think I might have seen this one at Hawarden.”
Longsword sucked in his breath. “They were coming from Rhuddlan—they must have been! The damned earl’s broken the peace! He must have taken my castle!” He scrambled to his feet with renewed vigor and ran back to his horse.
“Will, if it’s true, you can’t go charging in!” Delamere shouted after him. “You’d be taken immediately, or killed!”
Longsword heaved himself into the saddle. He didn’t respond.
“Did you hear me?”
Longsword walked his horse over to Delamere and looked down on him. “Are you coming?”
Delamere tasted grit in his mouth and spat onto the ground. “Only if you swear to leave Haworth for me.”