Rhuddlan

Chapter 53

  June, 1178

  Llanlleyn, Gwynedd

  Roger of Haworth moved his men back to a secure position east of the fortress, near the banks of the Clwyd, and immediately dispatched a contingent to cut timber. When his fear had been justified and it was obvious that Hugh was not on his way to the Perfeddwlad, he had decided to build a rough scaling tower and a quantity of ladders for use in overcoming Rhuddlan’s defenses. He didn’t know how long he had before fitz Maurice’s men began to return but he wasn’t particularly worried; there couldn’t be more than a dozen soldiers left inside Rhuddlan and with a scaling tower, he could put many more than that over the walls in a matter of moments.

  Still, it would be honorable on his part to give the defenders some warning of his intentions, on the narrow chance they would decide to surrender peacefully. To that end, he and two of his knights approached the gate again and demanded to talk to Guy Lene. This time, however, Lene did not immediately appear and they were forced to stand in the rain, which did nothing to improve Haworth’s mood. But he stayed, because Hugh was in there.

  At last Lene’s upper body showed in the tower. “What are your men doing, Sir Roger?” he demanded in an angry voice. “We can see them felling trees—our trees! What do you mean by this?”

  “I should think it quite obvious, Sir Guy; we are preparing to take your fortress,” Haworth answered. “Hear me well, because I will not repeat this offer! If you don’t immediately open the gate and release the earl and his bodyguard, you leave us no alternative but to take Rhuddlan by force. And I promise you—take it we will! We know you’re few in number while we are at full strength. And don’t expect aid from the men at present en route to Llanlleyn. As a precaution, two knights were sent to intercept any messenger you may have posted to your captain. He will never deliver your plea for the army’s return!”

  Without excusing himself, Lene abruptly stepped away from the front of the tower, disappearing from view. Haworth and his companions exchanged a puzzled glance. At length, Lene re-emerged.

  “We regret we cannot compy with your request, Sir Roger!” he shouted. “And we must warn you that any assault on our walls will be interpreted as an act of war for which your master will be held accountable. As he is currently our guest, he won’t be difficult to find and judge!”

  Haworth’s mouth dropped open. He hadn’t thought Hugh’s life would be in peril. “Don’t do anything rash, Lene!” he said threateningly. “The earl is the foremost peer of the realm!”

  “And this castle belongs to the king’s son!” Lene retorted.

  “It’s Rhuddlan which has acted precipitously by seizing the earl and holding him against his will!” Haworth argued. “Release him immediately and we will leave!”

  Again Lene stepped out of view. Haworth decided he must be conferring with another knight.

  Lene returned. “Once more we regret we cannot comply with your request, Sir Roger! The earl gained entrance to Rhuddlan with false information and accusations which were designed to destroy this fortress and everyone in it, as well as everyone at Llanlleyn. We are holding him for Lord William to judge when he returns from Normandy!”

  “Are you mad?” Haworth was incredulous. “God alone knows when Lord William will return!”

  “Take your men and leave now, Sir Roger, and perhaps when Sir Warin comes back from Llanlleyn, he will agree to release your master to keep the peace!”

  Haworth’s horse stepped fitfully, sensing its master’s indignation. “We’re going nowhere without the earl, do you hear me, Lene? We’ll be back in the morning to take this fortress and I swear by all the saints above, if even one hair on the earl’s head has been touched I will personally carve up your body into a thousand pieces! Do you hear me, Lene! I will show no mercy to anyone in Rhuddlan and that includes your mistress! You have tonight to think it over, Lene! When we come back tomorrow, this gate had better be standing open if you value your life and those of your comrades!” With an angry jerk, he turned his horse and he and his entourage galloped off, spraying clomps of grass and dirt.

  Guy Lene watched them go and then wearily descended the ladder. Teleri was waiting for him. Two servants held a taut length of cowhide over her head to keep off the rain.

  “You don’t look happy, Sir Guy,” she said.

  “I’m not, my lady. I don’t like holding someone as important as the earl of Chester prisoner. And Sir Roger is right: once he’s built those ladders he can take this fortress with little effort.”

  “Only if you’re prepared to expend little effort in return, Sir Guy!” she said impatiently.

  “Sir Roger’s a formidable opponent…”

  “He isn’t invincible! He was already captured once, and by the Welsh, whom you consider less able than you Normans.”

  “I don’t see how a dozen men can hold off—”

  “Sir Guy, as long as we have the earl Sir Roger can’t touch us. If we have to parade him along the walls with a knife to his throat to keep Sir Roger at bay, then we will. Sooner or later, Sir Warin will return. All we have to do is hold off Sir Roger until then. It couldn’t be easier.”

  The knight’s face showed plainly that he didn’t agree with her. Frowning, she stepped closer to him. “I’m giving you a warning, Sir Guy. You do as I say or I’ll have you arrested. I told you yesterday what the earl had planned for Rhuddlan and Llanlleyn. He would kill us all! Keep your mind on that fact and perhaps your resolve will return! The earl remains a prisoner and Rhuddlan resists any attack by Hawarden. Understand?”

  Daunted by her vehemence and cowed by her position, he nodded.

  From their hiding place among the trees in the wooded area opposite Rhuddlan, Longsword and Delamere watched Haworth and his companions retreat to the river. Thanks to Haworth’s and Lene’s booming voices, they had heard the entire exchange, which had explained the reason Hawarden’s two knights had attacked Longsword, but not why the earl was now a prisoner at Rhuddlan. And Delamere had another worry: Llanlleyn was apparently under attack. He wanted to leave immediately but this time Longsword pleaded with him to stay. “You heard what Haworth said, those men were sent to intercept a messenger. We killed them before they could get to him, so he’ll get to fitz Maurice before the army reaches Llanlleyn—”

  “What if they’re already there, Will! Llanlleyn is no match for our army!”

  Longsword heard fear in his voice and tried to speak calmly. “Neither will Rhirid give up without a fight, Richard. Besides, it’s raining and fitz Maurice never did like to get wet. If he’s already at Llanlleyn, he’s more likely shivering in a tent than sitting on his horse, rusting.” He looked earnestly at his friend. “Please, Richard. I need you. Stay this night and we’ll leave together first thing in the morning. Our horses will be rested and we’ll be fed. Lord, but I’m hungry.” He thought longingly of the hot meal he’d envisioned waiting for him at Rhuddlan.

  “Need me for what?” Delamere asked suspiciously.

  “I have a plan,” Longsword said with a little smile. “But it must wait until dark. Will you stay?”

  “What is this plan?”

  “All in good time, Richard…First, I need a meal. If we head north and get close to the sea, we should find a fisherman’s hovel. We can get food and shelter…and rope,” he added, the smile widening at some private, sudden inspiration. He focused again on Delamere. “And I swear to you, we’ll head for Llanlleyn at first light.”

  After a moment, Delamere nodded. “Fine.”

  They headed back to where they’d left the horses. Longsword bent down and unhobbled both of them. He was filled with excitement with his plan but tried to remain placid because he knew Delamere was still worried about Olwen. As he straightened up, a thought occurred to him. “Richard, back there on the road. You were going to Llanlleyn. Why did you turn back?”

  Delamere heaved himself into the saddle and picked up the slack in his reins. “I never started off, Will. I was watching you go, wondering if I should
have gone with you after all. I saw the two riders. Lucky for you I had an attack of conscience.”

  Yes, Longsword agreed; lucky. He only hoped that one day he’d be able to adequately repay Delamere for all his years of loyalty and friendship.

  Four riders hurtled toward the fortress, heedless of the rain-slicked grass. They shouted to the guard standing in the covered platform above the high palisade and galloped up the short mound and through the open gate, reining to a halt just on the other side. One of them jumped to the ground as Guri came hurrying to meet them, followed by half a dozen men who wore expressions ranging from wary curiosity to apprehension. Everyone knew such a dramatic entrance was invariably followed by an unusual announcement.

  The Norman army, the man breathlessly informed them, was on its way to Llanlleyn.

  There was an immediate buzz of disbelief and Guri had to hold up his hand for silence, just to be able to ask a few questions. It was true; there was no mistake: a force the size of that Lord William had fielded in the battle against the earl the summer before was headed in their direction. Lord William himself had not been seen but there was no misinterpreting the intention of the grim faces, the steady marching of the footmen and the bows slung across the backs of the archers.

  It was quite obvious the Normans were coming to fight. As to the why, none of the four Welshman had been fool enough to inquire. None of them had even gotten close enough to be spotted. The Normans had so much faith in their abilities that they rarely bothered to look around.

  Guri supposed the why didn’t matter, anyway. If the men from Rhuddlan were coming, there were preparations to make. Rhirid had built Llanlleyn with defense in mind—it was on the tallest rise in the meadow, the wall was mounded, packed earth topped with a spiked pallisade and there were blocks at various points along the inside of it upon which an archer could stand and shoot—but Guri knew it could not hold out very long against a Norman force superior in numbers and weapons. Anyone who couldn’t fight had to be sent into the forest for safety; the cattle had to be rounded up and likewise removed. Weapons had to be honed; the gate reinforced. There was no hope for the fortress, but Guri wasn’t about to abandon it.

  He gestured to several men to step forward. One of these was Dylan ab Owain, who had been Rhirid’s champion. Guri had never cared much for Dylan because he hadn’t liked the influence Dylan’s wife had had over Rhirid, particularly where the cast-off mistress of one of the Normans was concerned, but Dylan was always eager to prove himself as loyal to the new chief as he’d been to Rhirid and Guri decided to test him now. He wanted Dylan and the others to find the Normans and track their progress. There was a certain route through the forest which was narrow and winding. Perhaps a small ambush of a sort could be devised to help slow that progress.

  It didn’t take long for word to spread through Llanlleyn and soon there was a riot of activity within the walls. Olwen, clutching little William with one hand and holding Henry tight against her chest with the other, made her way through the throng of people to the front gate, where Goewyn was watching her husband set off with two companions to track the Norman advance. Her friend’s face was creased with worry, her expression unhappy, and when Dylan was out of sight, she turned to Olwen plaintively. “What’s happening?” she cried. “I thought we were safe now, at least while Lord William ruled Rhuddlan. What happened?”

  Olwen shook her head. She dropped little William’s hand and shifted Henry to her hip. “There must be some mistake. Rhuddlan has no reason to break the peace. Don’t worry about Dylan.”

  “How can I not? He’s so large, he’s bound to be seen. And if he’s seen, they’ll shoot him!”

  “Hush, Goewyn! Don’t talk like that!” Olwen admonished. “I’m telling you there’s a mistake…but I do have a favor to beg of you.”

  The other woman looked at her through red-rimmed eyes. She touched a square of cloth to her nose.

  “I was told by Lord Guri that I’m to remain here,” Olwen said. “Will you take my children and watch them?”

  Goewyn was plainly surprised and all other expression briefly left her face. “Of course…Olwen, why must you stay?”

  “I don’t know,” she said helplessly. “I suppose to translate, if the situation gets that close.” But privately, she couldn’t help but wonder if Guri had a darker reason: to use her as a hostage.

  The messenger from Rhuddlan finally caught up to the army in the late afternoon. The rain which had started earlier in the day now fell with large, steady drops and showed no inclination towards abating. The dismal weather had made fitz Maurice’s journey not only a physical misery but a mental one as well; the men had left Rhuddlan the day before eager and optimistic but now they trudged along muddy paths in morose, miserable silence. They had nearly reached their destination but their pace was slow and fitz Maurice, riding back along the line every so often to encourage them, began to despair of arriving before dusk.

  He had returned to the head of the winding line when the messenger laboriously worked his way up to meet him. At first he continued to ride as he listened to man relay Guy Lene’s message but the story was so incredulous that he soon reined his horse to a halt to demand elaboration. Three other knights who had heard pieces of the message stopped as well, but fitz Maurice, anxious to make camp while there was still some light, gestured to everyone else to keep going.

  The messenger repeated the story and then looked at his audience expectantly, imagining fitz Maurice would give the order to turn around. Instead, he saw shock, disbelief and even outrage on the knights’ faces. It was clear they didn’t believe it. Indeed, they wanted to know what was wrong with Lene for allowing himself to be bullied by Lady Teleri.

  The messenger was taken aback. He insisted he was speaking the truth. After all, Roger of Haworth had been seen travelling to Rhuddlan.

  “But you didn’t actually see him arrive,” fitz Maurice said. “And the lady’s feelings on this matter were clear two nights ago when the earl showed up. She’s Welsh; of course she wants to protect Llanlleyn. And since when has she any love for Rhuddlan? She’s never cared about it or Lord William.”

  “If she is telling the truth,” another man added, “then who killed our comrade? The earl himself?”

  There were a few humorless chuckles. Fitz Maurice looked at the messenger. “Well, as long as you’re here, you can stay and fight. It’ll be dark soon and there isn’t much we can do in the rain, anyway, but tomorrow will be a different story.”

  “But, Sir Warin, Sir Guy’s instructions were explicit!” the man protested.

  “Sir Guy has no authority over me!” fitz Maurice snapped. “Don’t worry: you’re blameless. You’ve done your job. Tomorrow, we’ll do ours and a few days later we’ll be back at Rhuddlan, trying to placate the earl. I only hope he understands that his imprisonment is Lady Teleri’s doing and will not hold it against us.”

  “Perhaps I may be permitted to return to Rhuddlan and tell Sir Guy and Lady Teleri of your decision…”

  “I’ve already told you your new orders,” fitz Maurice said impatiently. He glanced around at his companions and shook his head slowly. “My God, how could that woman have expected us to believe such an outlandish, exaggerated—”

  A sudden burst of shouting from the soldiers ahead interrupted the rest of his words. He immediately took up his reins and spurred his horse forward, scattering the men-at-arms who were still trudging past and followed closely by the other three knights and the messenger. When he reached the head of the line he saw one of his men lying prone on the ground, an arrow jutting out of his chest, the man’s horse thrashing wildly, half-sitting on crumpled back legs and trying to stand on its front two, stuck with three arrows, and everyone else pointing in different directions, swords pulled, horses wheeling.

  “What the hell happened?” he demanded.

  “An ambush, Sir Warin!” someone shouted back. “A quick strike as we turned the bend! We’ve gone after them—”

  F
itz Maurice looked at the body in the road and knew that might have been him, if he hadn’t stopped to listen to the messenger. He swiveled in the saddle, found the man and glared at him. He pointed to the dead knight. “Do you see that? That is the evidence of your own eyes! There is your proof that Llanlleyn has broken the peace—your second proof! Now there are two to avenge!”

  Longsword and Delamere cautiously approached the far northern end of Haworth’s encampment on foot, leading their horses. It was now full dark but their destination was near the western bank of the river and the flat, stony ground so glistened with raindrops that it was not difficult to negotiate. Further away, they saw Haworth’s makeshift camp of rough lean-tos and sputtering fires under the relative shelter of the forest trees and heard the sound of men speaking companionably and even laughing. Obviously, Hawarden wasn’t concerned with whatever might happen the next morning.

  Longsword hoped that attitude would soon change. He could see his target directly before him and, as he nudged Delamere and pointed out in a whisper, no guard.

  The noise of the rain, steady but not hard, obscured the crunch of their boots on the rocks and stones when they continued forward, hunched slightly as if that might render them invisible. The fruits of Haworth’s labors were heaped up together in a high pile: all the ladders his men had fashioned from saplings and branches and next to them, the tower, perhaps the height of three men, lying on its back.

  Longsword grinned. “Ready?”

  Delamere nodded.

  They started with the ladders, carrying them one by one down to the edge of the river and throwing them as far out as they could, hoping to reach the swifter currents towards the middle. Longsword would rather have burned them in a spectacular bonfire that could have been seen by Rhuddlan but the wood was too wet and the rain prohibitive.

  When they’d gone through almost half the pile, they discovered there was a guard after all. He came up from the direction of the river, perhaps after heeding the call of nature, and casually approached them. When he was close enough to realize they were dumping the ladders and to recognize Longsword, he gave a great shout. Delamere dropped his new load, ran up to the man and punched him in the nose so hard that he collapsed, senseless, onto the rough ground. Someone in the camp, having heard the shout, called over questioningly, but Longsword shouted back that it was all right; he’d just seen a rat crawling up from the river. More laughter. Delamere bent over to make sure the guard was truly unconscious and then they quickly finished the job.

  The last matter was the disposal of the tower. Longsword took the rope and secured it to the rough structure by looping it around the unfinished pole ends near the top. Delamere brought the horses up. The free ends of the ropes were fixed around the high backs of the saddles and on Longsword’s signal, he urged the horses towards the river by pulling on their bridles. For a moment, they both doubted the scheme would succeed; the tower refused to budge. Delamere tried the horses again and Longsword threw his weight onto the tower from the other end. The rain splattered down on their bare heads and Delamere sneezed when a rivulet ran down the side of his nose. Whether the timing was coincidental or startled by the sudden, loud noise, the horses strained forward again and this time the tower moved. Longsword lost his footing on the wet stones and fell to his knee. With a curse he gained his feet and put his shoulder against the tower once more. Once the five of them—men, horses and tower—were underway, they kept going and when the ground began to slope, the tower practically moved by itself.

  The bank of the river was flatter and needed more effort. The water was dark and churning in the rain and Delamere cast a dubious eye on it.

  “Is it a good idea to put the horses into the water?” he called back to Longsword. “It’s hard to see. It’s too dangerous.”

  “We’re not going to get this thing in unless the horses pull it in,” Longsword answered. “Let’s switch places.”

  The horses themselves seemed to have reservations about going into the water. It took all Longsword’s strength to coax them and they had just gotten their forelegs wet when he heard Delamere’s voice over the rushing river. He paused. “What are you saying?”

  Delamere splashed through the shallow water to his side. “They’re coming! Sounds like the whole camp! The guard must have woken…”

  Longsword redoubled his efforts with the horses. “Come on! We have a little time and we’re so close! Haworth’s not keeping his damned tower if I can prevent it!”

  The horses whinnied and strained against the ropes. Longsword shouted at them encouragingly. Delamere pushed on the tower with a strength born of urgency. The structure shifted forward, crunching on the stones. Longsword was up to his waist in the water. For a brief moment he thought with a sinking heart that soon he and the horses would not have the stability of solid ground to enable them to move the tower any further but then he felt something give and realized the top half had just fallen in. He left the horses and waded back up onto the bank to join Delamere. He could hear the cries and jangling of Haworth’s men as they ran across the span between their camp and the river. No horsemen; not yet. That gave them a little more time.

  With loud grunts of exertion, he and Delamere pushed and pushed against the tower until it was completely in the water. “Cut the horses loose!” he shouted to Delamere, who decided the quickest way to get to them was to scramble across the solid back of the tower. By now the two animals were frightened, left in the swirling water alone, and were thrashing their heads and trying to buck. Delamere dared not jump into the river; he tried to speak calmly to his own mount with little effect. He heard Longsword tell him to hurry and felt the tower shift under his weight. He didn’t know if it would sink but if it didn’t, it would soon gather a momentum of its own and sweep downstream towards the sea dragging the horses with it. He pulled his knife from his belt and reached down for the rope tied to his horse. He sawed through it frantically but the rope was wet and his knife not as sharp as it should have been. After what seemed an eternity the rope separated. The horse immediately tried to scramble away but Delamere clung to the rope and jumped off the tower. He worked his way hand over hand to the other end of the rope and then grabbed hold of his saddle and maneuvered around to the animal’s left flank and hauled himself into the saddle. He took the reins and looked for Longsword’s horse.

  The water level reached his knee as he sat in the saddle but the current was swift from the rain and Delamere had to struggle to keep his mount’s balance on the soft river bed. Longsword’s horse was several yards away and shrieking from the tug of the moving tower. Longsword had entered the water and behind him, appearing as dark, indistinct forms on the top of the slope, was Chester’s army. Delamere hoped he and Longsword were as difficult to distinguish as they were. Then he heard the whiz of an arrow pass close to his head and knew they weren’t.

  Carefully, he urged his horse towards Longsword’s. The tower was moving by itself now; he had to reach the tethered horse, cut the rope and move both animals out of its path before it gathered more speed and plowed into them. Another arrow shot by. Longsword was shouting. Delamere leaned as far over in his saddle as he could and managed to grab the taut rope with his left hand. Not daring to let it go, he tugged mightily on it; the buoyant tower moved obligingly in his direction and put enough slack in the rope that he could pull it towards himself and reach down with his right hand to cut through it. Longsword shouted his horse’s name. He waded through rushing water which now reached to his chest and seized the animal’s bridle.

  “Will, the tower!”

  The structure still floated. It was bearing down on them with all the force of the swollen river behind it and they were directly in its path. Longsword threw his body over the saddle and gave a few kicks to right himself. “Move center, Richard!” he shouted and urged his horse in that direction as well. The tower sailed past. Longsword whooped with pleasure like a child.

  By now Haworth’s men had lined up along the riverban
k and the archers were shooting steadily despite the rain and the darkness which hindered their accuracy. The other men hurled stones; one hit Delamere’s horse on the shoulder.

  “We’ll have to cross to the other side!” Longsword shouted.

  “Are you crazy? We’ll never make it!”

  “It’s our only chance, Richard!” He jutted out an arm. “See! That clump of trees! That will be our marker—make for it!”

  Delamere wished he’d gone to Llanlleyn as he’d planned.

  He shortened the reins and clamped his legs firmly to the ribs of the horse and pulled its head towards the center of the river. Fighting the current and keeping control of the horse took every ounce of his strength. For a long time, they seemed to be making no progress, and then he felt the animal stumble and he almost went under. He realized they were swimming. It was an eerie sensation, not at all enjoyable. He wondered vaguely why he no longer heard the rush of the river and the splattering rain or even Haworth’s shouting men but he didn’t mind the sudden peace after so much activity…He was tired, very tired; it had been a long day, he thought. He hoped the horse had a bit more strength left in it and he tried to speak reassuringly to it but for some reason, his voice was mute. Just a bit further, he thought instead; a little further. At least, on the other side of the river, he would be closer to Llanlleyn. He ought to have gone there instead of riding after Longsword. He had missed Olwen so much this past year; he didn’t know why they had let their relationship deteriorate but he was willing now to do whatever she asked of him. He thought he saw her waiting for him on the other bank but then he smiled wryly and knew he was only wishing to see her there. Why would she be there? But her face wouldn’t leave him. Her lovely long, dark hair, so soft…he would pay any price just to touch it again…the way she had looked at him that first time at Rhuddlan, her laughing eyes and her mouth curved up slyly, like a cat’s. He smiled. She was standing at the well, stretching out her hand to him, offering him a drink of cold water and he stared and stared at her, wanting only to kiss her, to drink her…

  “Come on, Richard!” Longsword shouted. The crossing had been brief and he thought Haworth wouldn’t hesitate to follow once he realized how easily his opponents had done it. But Delamere was lagging and he made no response. Then he slumped forward and Longsword saw the shaft of an arrow sticking out of his back.

  Heart racing, he splashed into the water and grabbed his friend just as he began to slip out of his saddle. He dragged Delamere up the stony bank and held him in his arms, his head close to Delamere’s face. Delamere was breathing in slow, labored gasps. Every breath burst in Longsword’s ears like a rush of fierce wind. He felt helpless. His friend lay before him, dying, and he didn’t know what to do or say. He took off his thick leather gloves and tentatively touched Delamere’s cheek with one hand. The flesh was warm and for an instant he thought it would all turn out well. “Richard,” he whispered, “hold on. I’ll get you help. Just keep breathing. Please, Richard, keep breathing!”

  Delamere’s eyes opened slowly but Longsword could tell immediately that he saw nothing. “Olwen…” His voice was barely audible. He tried to say more but there wasn’t any breath left. His head fell to one side as if the sinews holding it firmly to the neck had been suddenly severed. For a horrifying moment, Longsword was immobile. Then he bent over Delamere’s lifeless body and grabbed his head in his arms and pressed his face to his, feeling the rough growth of beard, smelling sweat and horse and the river water and he couldn’t believe it. Only moments before he was alive…only moments before…what had happened?…moments before the man he loved above all others was alive and now he was dead…what had happened? Already, Delamere’s cheek was growing cold. Longsword sat hunched, covering Delamere’s face with his own so the rain wouldn’t fall on it. A loud, growing roar began to distract his tumbling thoughts. A roar he finally realized was coming from his own throat.

  Roger of Haworth froze. He thought he’d heard something; a long, anguished howl—human, not animal—but though he strained his ears, it was gone now. It was difficult to hear anything over the rushing water and the clomping hooves of the horses that were just being brought over. Perhaps he was mistaken; none of the others appeared to have heard it and some of the bowmen were still shooting arrows out into the river despite the poor visibility. He called on them to stop wasting missiles which would be better employed the next day and turned again to the man who was supposed to have been guarding the ladders.

  “I would swear it was Lord William, Sir Roger,” the man said in a nasally voice. “And Sir Richard knocked me out.”

  “So you’ve said,” Haworth replied dourly.

  He was vaguely surprised he didn’t feel shock at the knowledge that the Bastard was back from Normandy. He supposed it was merely another rip in the fabric of the perfect plan he and Hugh had concocted. If Hugh hadn’t been a prisoner of Rhuddlan, Haworth would have cut his losses and retreated to Hawarden at first light.

  One of his knights approached, breathless from having galloped from the horse pen to the river. He was mounted and led Haworth’s horse by the reins. Half a dozen knights stood behind him, most dressed in nothing more than a tunic, leggings and boots and holding only their swords because they hadn’t had time to properly outfit themselves for a fight. Their horses stepped impatiently, as if they were angry at being awakened when they’d just settled down for the night.

  “Your mount is ready, Sir Roger! Should we go ahead?”

  Haworth shook his head. “No. They’ve crossed the river; there’s no point riding along this side.”

  “Then we’ll cross as well!”

  “Save your enthusiasm for tomorrow,” Haworth answered. “I’m not risking my best men on that river in this weather. They were lucky to make it…” If they had, he thought, remembering the howl.

  He looked down at the spot where the ladders had been stacked and his tower had lain. This little surprise had cost them a day at most but perhaps that price was cheap in view of the information they’d acquired. The Bastard and Richard Delamere were back and they obviously knew what was happening at Rhuddlan. If he were the Bastard, Haworth thought, what would be his next move?

  Head for Llanlleyn.

  Teleri awoke in the middle of the night to frantic knocking on her outer door. Her women, similarly roused, looked helplessly at each other and with a Norman oath she shoved back the bedclothes, covered herself with a robe and walked barefoot to the door. “Who is it?” she hissed.

  “Cynan, my lady!”

  “Cynan!” She pulled up the latch and opened the door. “What’s the matter? The earl hasn’t escaped, has he?”

  “No, my lady! Can you come down to the stables, please?”

  “At this hour? Why?”

  “Please, my lady; they won’t talk to me. They want to see you and say it’s urgent!”

  “Who?”

  “They’re fishermen. I don’t know their names.”

  Obviously she wasn’t going to get any sensible information from the boy. She told him to wait, shut the door and ordered her women to dress her quickly. Then she lit a lamp and went out.

  They went down the stairs to the ground floor opposite the kitchens. She was relieved to find the rain had finally stopped and there was a full moon high in the sky, although somewhat obscured by streaky clouds. Still relatively early, then, she thought. Perhaps she’d yet be able to have a decent sleep once she dismissed these fishermen.

  “How did they get in here?” she whispered to the boy. “Didn’t Sir Guy put a guard on the postern?”

  “It was the guard who fetched me,” Cynan said. “He didn’t understand what they were saying. Most of the craftsmen and their families in the village have come into the castle for protection and he thought it was just two more. But they kept saying your name, that much he understood, so he sent for me. And they told me they had seen Lord William and now they must see you—”

  Teleri stopped walking and grabbed his arm. “L
ord William?”

  “Yes, my lady, that’s what they said.”

  “He’s back? Where?”

  “He wasn’t with them. Perhaps he gave them a message for you.”

  “Impossible! Lord William doesn’t speak Welsh and they obviously don’t speak French.” She released him and started walking again, faster than before so that Cynan had to trot to keep up with her.

  “Sir Richard does,” he said.

  There was a small crowd outside the stables. Most of the villagers had gone into the hall for shelter but now that the rain had stopped, the potential excitement of the next day had driven the restless ones out of doors to talk.

  As she drew closer, she heard two men’s voices above the murmurs of the others, speaking as if they were telling a story. The few sentences she heard shocked her. With tight lips, she strode through the crowd and confronted them.

  “You there! Come with me immediately!”

  Without a backwards glance she continued past the stables and down to the postern gate, thinking the nosey crowd wouldn’t dare follow. She nodded to the Norman guard and then turned on the two fishermen. “I understand you have a message for me!” she snapped.

  “Yes—”

  “Then why were you telling it to everyone?”

  “We weren’t told not to!”

  “We are under siege! It is no time to spread rumors!”

  “It’s no rumor, my lady,” one man said earnestly. “It’s true! The Norman is dead! The lord is beyond this gate, waiting for you.”

  There was a little pause.

  “My husband?”

  “Yes, my lady.”

  Her heart thudded. “What do you mean, he’s beyond the gate?”

  The two men looked at each other, clearly puzzled. The one who’d been speaking repeated, “He’s waiting for you…”

  She tried again. “And he’s dead?”

  “Oh, no, no, my lady! Not he; the other one! Please, my lady, the lord came knocking on our door. We didn’t understand his words but he kept saying Rhuddlan and your name. His companion was lying across the back of his horse. It was plain he wanted to come here. We took two boats. We know where the safest crossings are, of course; closer to the bay where the river widens.”

  Teleri didn’t know why, but relief spread through her body. She was relieved it wasn’t Longsword who was dead.

  “The river is some distance from here…” she said.

  “The lord carried the dead one all the way.”

  Teleri turned to the guard. “I’m going out with these men. Please open the gate.”

  The guard looked uneasy. “My lady, is that wise? Let me send for Sir Guy.”

  “That’s not necessary. I’ll be fine.”

  He glanced at the Welshmen. “I’m only thinking it might be a trap of some kind.”

  “I don’t understand…”

  “Perhaps they were sent by Sir Roger. To kidnap you. You know, because we have the earl.”

  She hadn’t thought of that. She studied the two men closely. Bah! She was becoming as paranoid as these Normans. But the truth would be out soon enough, anyway.

  “You might as well come, too,” she told him. “Lord William is outside and Sir Richard with him. That’s what these two have come to tell me.”

  Instead of being cheered by this information, the guard looked even more alarmed. “Lord William and Sir Richard? My lady, that’s preposterous! Why would they enter through here? This is a trap!”

  “Shh!” she hushed him. She thought there was a reason Longsword had summoned her and not Guy Lene and if the guard continued objecting so loudly, another soldier might hear and tell the commander. “It isn’t a trap, I promise you! If you won’t come, at least let me out. I’m ordering you to let me out!”

  “I can’t, my lady,” he protested, but his voice was not too firm. “I will have to speak first with Sir Guy.”

  “Lady Teleri, I will go!” This was from Cynan, who had followed her and heard everything the two Welshmen had said.

  After further debate, the plan was agreed to by the Norman. He opened the gate as slightly as would permit the boy to slide through and quickly closed it behind him.

  Teleri turned back to the fishermen. “How did Sir Richard die?”

  The one who had been speaking shrugged. “I don’t know, lady. It was dark and raining when the lord appeared at the door and the other Norman was just slung over the horse, as I told you. Of course, we didn’t dare go near him.”

  “So, how do you know he’s dead? Perhaps he’s merely wounded or ill.”

  The two men exchanged another glance and the first one looked at her pityingly. “He was in my boat when we crossed the river, lady. He never drew a breath.” He sighed. “I suppose I will have to have the priest out to bless it now.”

  Teleri was just about to make a sharp retort when Cynan thumped on the gate and announced himself. The guard opened it cautiously. “It’s him!” the boy said breathlessly, as if he’d been running. “And he’s angry the lady wasn’t with me and he says to get over to him right away!”

  “Are you satisfied?” Teleri asked the guard, who still looked doubtful but he knew Cynan wouldn’t put the soldiers he admired so much in jeopardy and so he dutifully followed her out, the two Welshmen behind them and the boy jogging ahead into the maze of little houses.

  Longsword was standing in the middle of the ox path, waiting for them with his arms crossed over his chest. Cynan stopped but the guard maneuvered past Teleri and approached his master with sudden enthusiasm. “My lord, is it truly you?” he exclaimed. “Welcome home!”

  Longsword nodded to him. Teleri paused. The light from the sliver of moon was thin and cast his angular face in various degrees of shadow which made it impossible to read his expression. But for some reason, she could quite clearly see the tension around his mouth and the guarded look in his eyes, which soon fell on her.

  “Come here, Teleri.”

  She moved forward slowly, unaccustomed to seeing him so still. It was one of his less endearing qualities: he constantly moved or fidgeted, as if he were eager to be anywhere than where he was, but now he just stood and she was disconcerted.

  “My lord,” she greeted him cautiously.

  He turned abruptly on his heel. “Follow me,” he said without looking back and entered the nearest building, a workshop of some kind; it was hard for her to distinguish in the darkness. But there was a long table in the center of the room and she saw right away there was a body lying on top of it.

  “Oh, no,” she breathed. She supposed she hadn’t really believed the fishermen. She went closer. It was indeed Richard Delamere.

  Longsword exhaled noisily. “Oh, yes,” he said steadily. “I want you to take him back to the castle. I want you to—to—well, you know,” his voice was brusque, “do what is usually done.”

  “But—”

  “All right?”

  “Of course…But what happened, William? What happened to him?”

  “What do you think happened to him, Teleri? One of Haworth’s men killed him!”

  It was plain to her that he was keeping himself under tight control, although she didn’t understand why; it was only the two of them in the room. It was as unnatural for him as his lack of movement only a moment earlier.

  “I am sorry, William,” she said quietly. “He was a good man.”

  He ignored the acknowledgment. “What brought all this on, Teleri? Why is Haworth camped outside the gate and why is the earl my prisoner?”

  She told him the story but didn’t include her own conversation with Hugh, and he was apparently too numb to notice that she had explained the mechanics but not the motivation.

  Neither did he seem surprised by the earl’s treachery. Instead, he indicated Delamere’s body with a jut of his jaw. “Take care of him, please.” Then he turned towards the door.

  “William, wait!” she said. When he hesitated, she approached him. “Why don’t you come back with us? You
must be exhausted. You can rest—”

  “I don’t want to rest,” he said curtly and turned back to the door.

  “Please!” She touched his arm. He jerked it back as if stung, but again he paused. “What are you going to do?”

  “Find fitz Maurice.”

  “What should we do?”

  “Keep Haworth out. You have hostages, don’t you? Use them. Threaten to kill them if Haworth tries to scale the walls. I’ll need a couple of days.”

  She began to feel frantic. “Why don’t you come inside and tell this to Sir Guy? Perhaps he has questions—”

  “That’s why I asked for you, Teleri!” he said in a low, sharp voice. “I don’t want to answer questions; I just want to leave! Do you understand? I don’t have time for pleasantries and condolences and questions! I didn’t think you’d give me any of those. Now—just do as I say, will you?”

  It was on the tip of her tongue to react angrily. To demand to know why she must help him when, if the king had been in a better or worse mood, he might have gotten approval for his plea for annulment. To ask why she must do as he commanded when he had made it so clear, not even a year before, that he couldn’t stand the sight of her.

  But—he couldn’t, even in the murky light and despite the sharp tone, quite hide the anguish in his eyes; she saw it and her anger subsided. If their history was any augur of the future, there would come another day for accusations and arguments. Besides, to clean and dress Sir Richard would not be a duty but an honor, because he’d been a true friend to her.

  So as she stared at her husband, her face relaxed. “I will,” she said. “I will do it.”

  He nodded and put his hand on the door latch. But then he stopped again, without warning so that she, who was following close behind, almost bumped into him. He turned around and looked down upon her. “Thank you,” he said tersely, to her amazement. Before the shock had passed, he was out the door and striding past the Norman guard and Cynan, and beckoning to the fishermen who were to presumably put him on the other side of the river.