Chapter 54
June, 1178
Rhuddlan, Gwynedd
Longsword woke groggily to the uncomfortable realization that he was being watched. He opened his eyes and for a moment was confused by the low, sooty ceiling and the windowless, semi-dark room in which he lay. A shaft of light through the open door penetrated the gloom and once he’d pushed himself up onto his elbows and his eyes had adjusted, he looked around and remembered that he was in the fisherman's hut. The three children who had been staring at him as he slept in the middle of their home, scrambled to their feet and ran outside when his emotionless gaze fell upon them.
He stood up tiredly and pulled his cloak up after him, shaking off the dust of the packed earth floor from it and rolling it absently into a tight wad which he tucked under his arm. He picked up his hauberk, ducked beneath the low doorframe and went outside.
He nearly recoiled from the sudden brightness. It reflected off the flat, barren bank of the river upon which the little house stood, off the white stones, off the rushing water. It made a mockery of the storm-filled night that had just passed and it was disturbing in its utter disregard for the passing of Richard Delamere. Longsword squinted his eyes against it and muttered a curse under his breath, and trudged over the stony ground towards the edge of the river, where he fumbled with his clothing and relieved his bladder.
When he turned around, the fisherman was there, his face blank and eyes not quite meeting his. The man couldn’t wait for him to be gone, Longsword thought darkly—but neither could he. He remembered he had to find fitz Maurice. There was absolutely nothing for him to do but find his army and avenge the death of his friend.
“Bread?” He asked the man. “Ale? Anything?” Shifting the cloak and hauberk, he made the motion of eating until the fisherman understood the pantomime and nodded vigorously. He said something to his wife, who was hunched over a smoking cooking pot suspended by a tripod over a small fire, and the woman came forward with a little bundle of cloth. Longsword opened it and found several dried fish. He grimaced, because fish was what he and Delamere had been given to eat the evening before, but re-wrapped it and stuck the bundle into his tunic. He’d eat while he rode.
His horse and Delamere’s were hobbled in a grassy clearing some distance from the hut. Away from the noise of the river, he could hear the sound of pounding surf as the sea met land to the north. Thinking of the sea reminded him of his journey to Normandy not long ago. If they hadn’t left, Delamere would still be alive. If Delamere hadn’t wanted to see Olwen so badly. If…This was a fruitless game. Longsword clicked his tongue impatiently and shrugged roughly into his hauberk. He saddled both horses, looped the reins to Delamere’s around his pommel and hauled himself onto his own mount, and headed south.
Teleri finished washing her hands and took the cloth held out by a servant. She gave the women in the room a somber smile. “Thank you…you did a fine job,” she told them and looked down upon the clean and neatly dressed body of Richard Delamere. He was as handsome as the day she’d first seen him. She thought of Olwen. How would Longsword break the news to her? Remembering his stricken face the night before, she doubted he’d need to use any words at all.
She lingered another moment at the bedside. Delamere’s death had been so sudden, so unexpected, she could still hardly believe it…her eyes misted. She touched the cloth to them and moved away. “We had better shutter those windows,” she said. “The day’s already warm and damp and the sun certainly won’t do him any good.”
“My lady, come and look,” said the girl who had gone to do her bidding. “The ones from Hawarden are standing outside the gate.”
Teleri crossed quickly to the window. Her husband had chosen this room as his own because of the view across the bailey and beyond the front gate it afforded. She could plainly see Haworth and two others waiting at the base of the short incline leading up to the entrance of the fortress. Beyond them were perhaps a dozen more men, some on horseback and the rest on foot, all out of arrow range. Haworth and his companions were bareheaded and armed only with their swords, which were not held out threateningly but fixed to their belts as if they were merely another accoutrement. Teleri realized the implication of this appearance immediately. She reiterated her order to close the shutters and hurried away to find Guy Lene.
“I don’t think they want to let us in,” said one of Haworth’s companions.
“They will,” Haworth answered without looking at him. His eyes were fixed on the gate in front of him.
“If they do,” said the third man, “let us go in while you remain out here, Sir Roger. You’re too important to risk. If they decide to ignore convention and break the truce, they’ll have both the earl and you. There’s no—”
“It won’t come to that,” Haworth interrupted sharply. “I know Lene. He doesn’t want trouble.”
“What about the Welsh woman? The Bastard’s wife?”
Haworth’s head swiveled in surprise. “What about her? It’s nothing to do with her!” The very thought of meeting with Teleri caused him to shudder slightly.
“Unless she was the one who gave the earl up to Lene.”
“Nonsense! That would mean the earl confided his plan in her and why would he do that? No, more likely it was one of our own. Someone got drunk and said something someone else overheard. We just have to convince Lene he’s made a mistake.”
“Hard to do that if they won’t let us in,” the first man muttered.
They stood another few moments in silence and then heard shouting from within the fortress. Haworth’s heart started thudding urgently. As soon as the gate began turning inward, he nodded to his two companions and proceeded up the slope.
Their entrance into Rhuddlan was greeted by half a dozen archers positioned along the wallwalk. Lene and six others, armed and helmetted, stood near the center of the bailey. As Haworth walked his horse forward, he heard the groan of the gate as it was pushed closed again and the heavy thud of the bar falling into place. He halted a short distance from Lene and dismounted as a groom ran up to hold the bridle.
He nodded courteously to Lene while taking the man’s measure. Lene’s face was drawn and haggard and his hair was unkempt, as if he’d done nothing but run nervous fingers through it all night. He wasn’t certain if he should be pleased Lene looked nervous. Sometimes a nervous man became stubborn in the face of a persuasive argument, just to assert some authority. But nervousness also meant Lene wasn’t comfortable with the situation and Haworth might be able to convince him that giving up Hugh would solve all his problems.
“Thank you for accepting my plea to parley, Sir Guy,” Haworth said, with another incline of his head. “I realized last night that perhaps we misunderstood each other and our dilemma might be resolved in a peaceful manner.”
“Indeed?” Lene sounded skeptical. “A sharp departure from your attitude yesterday. I’m willing to hear you out, of course, because of custom but I must tell you Lady Teleri isn’t happy to see you within these walls.”
“If she keeps to her rooms then she needn’t see me at all,” Haworth said humorlessly. “Anyway, this is a military matter, Lene, between men. There isn’t any reason to involve your mistress.”
“Only one: she insists on being involved.” He gestured towards the keep. “Shall we go inside?”
Haworth barely noticed the hateful stares and mutters from the Welsh that followed him and his entourage as they crossed the bailey. He was annoyed that Teleri was interfering and had no idea what she might do or say. Hugh had discounted her influence on the Normans and Haworth had figured she would be out of sight somewhere. Now, he was not only about to confront her but he must be deferential and polite in his bid for Hugh’s freedom.
It was worse than he’d imagined, he thought when he entered the council chamber and saw that she was sitting in the great carved chair that was the focal point of the room and that Lene took up a position slightly behind her.
His eyes met Teleri’s and he bowed shortly to
her before sitting down on a bench. Her gaze was cool and unfathomable. He looked upward, into Lene’s face and noticed again the man’s discomfort. A new thought occurred to him: perhaps Lene was nervous because the Bastard’s wife was insinuating herself into his business and there was nothing he could do about it. But…if he could discredit her; if he could convince Lene that she couldn’t be trusted where the Normans were concerned; if her loyalty to the Bastard could be questioned…then maybe his plan would succeed and he would yet walk out of this room with Hugh.
His voice was much more conciliatory than it had sounded the day before when he’d demanded the immediate release of his master and threatened the destruction of Rhuddlan. “I believe there has been a misunderstanding between us,” he said, ignoring Teleri and fixing his dark eyes on Lene. “I was angry when I learned what had happened to the earl and perhaps I didn’t listen closely enough to your story. Why don’t you tell it to me again?”
After a glance down at Teleri, Lene recounted all that had happened from the time of the earl’s arrival to his imprisonment. Haworth saw the glaring flaw immediately. “So, really—all the evidence against the earl comes down to your lady’s word?” he asked with an air of incredulity.
“There is the evidence of your own army, Sir Roger!” Teleri retorted immediately. “Why are you here?”
Haworth refused to look at her. “Sir Guy, I told you yesterday: we were to join my lord at the Perfeddwlad. We were to have paid a visit to the prince.”
“That isn’t true!” Teleri said sharply.
“Sir Guy, why don’t you bring out the earl and hear his story from his own mouth and not Lady Teleri’s?” he asked Lene reasonably.
Teleri stood up. Haworth at last spared her a glance. Her face was red with anger and her hands were clenched. Although he betrayed no expression, he was spitefully pleased, feeling he had accomplished a small vengeance against her for all the time she’d spent with Hugh at Rhuddlan and later at Hawarden.
“Your story is false, Sir Roger! When Sir Warin was preparing to ride to Llanlleyn, the earl told him if he could wait a few days, he would send to Hawarden for his army so that Llanlleyn could see he and Rhuddlan stood together. Why would he say that if he knew you were only a day behind him?”
He didn’t flinch. “I don’t know, my lady. Did he indeed say such thing, Sir Guy?”
“I—I wasn’t present when the earl arrived. I don’t know what was said…or not said.”
“Very well. Then again I ask you to send for the earl.”
“I forbid it!” Teleri said forcefully.
“Can it do us any harm to hear the earl, my lady?” Lene asked hesitantly.
Haworth gritted his teeth. Who was in charge here? Or did Lene doubt his position enough to defer to her? This time, before Teleri could challenge him again, he said:
“If Lady Teleri is speaking the truth, then why should she fear the presence of the earl? Sir Guy, we are men used to fighting, not speaking. Somewhere between a few days ago and today, someone misunderstood someone else. I believe the earl, as a peer of the realm, ought to be allowed to tell his version of the story in the presence of you and me and the knights we have with us—”
“Are you calling me a liar?” Teleri demanded angrily, stepping towards him. “Are you saying I made it all up? For what reason, Sir Roger? To what purpose?”
“Perhaps you could better answer that, Lady Teleri,” Haworth snapped. “Your commitment to Rhuddlan has often been questionable.”
“How—”
He went on, rising to his feet. “Does Sir Guy know that you left Rhuddlan quite willingly when Lord Rhirid came for you? That’s what you told the earl. There was no abduction! Or will you now say the earl has lied about that as well?”
The red had seeped from her face in an instant. She was pale as an egg but Haworth suspected it was the result of a higher level of anger and not fear. He turned quickly to Lene. “Is it any wonder Lord William repudiated her at Hawarden? He knows the truth about where her loyalty lies!”
He was proud of his argument; after all, it was all true. Lene was practically sweating. And then, to his surprise, Teleri laughed.
“I wondered why you asked for a parley after your vicious threats yesterday,” she said, the anger gone from her voice. “You had made it sound as if you’d have no trouble at all taking this fortress, but this morning you came to beg for peace. I finally understand. You know my husband is back and you’re afraid. You want to get the earl out of here because you’re afraid my husband will kill him. You don’t have time to waste fighting. You want him now.”
She looked back at Lene. “As for the question of my loyalty, I think Lord William put that to rest when he came here last night and asked only for me. He told me what he wants us to do about the threat from Sir Roger and giving up the earl was not part of his instructions. So, Sir Guy, I don’t think we have anything more to discuss with Sir Roger.” She fixed contemptuous eyes on Haworth. “Let him wait by the river. Because my husband has gone to find his soldiers and when he returns, he’s expecting battle.”
Longsword traveled at a quick pace, switching mounts when he sensed his was beginning to tire of his weight combined with the punishing pace, but apart from that one instant of realization, he passed much of the journey in a daze. His mind was numb and could hold few thoughts. He didn’t want to do too much thinking, anyway, because the cold fact of his utter solitude confronted him whenever he did. Richard was gone and now he had no one. He was all alone…
When he stopped a little after midday to water the horses at a narrow brook, he bent and examined the ground. The force of the previous day’s rainstorm had been blunted by the forest’s canopy of leaves and the impressions of a multitude of hooves and boots were more obvious than they’d been on the open land. The prints were heading in the same direction as he. He recognized immediately that this was his army and was hopeful that he’d join it before nightfall.
But as he straightened up, he was aware that he was under scrutiny for the second time that day, only this time it wasn’t children who watched him intently but a Welsh archer, who seemed to have materialized from thin air and who stood unmoving before him, heavy bow curved majestically, sinew cord pulled taut to the ear and gleaming arrow aimed directly at his chest. Longsword, surprised, could only stare and then he heard the clomping of approaching horses and turned his head slightly. Two mounted Welshmen, one carrying a long spear and the other a sword, halted a few paces from him. He couldn’t recall his name, but he recognized the one holding the sword, a huge man with black hair and long mustaches: Rhirid’s champion.
The horses halted. Longsword, remembering Teleri’s story, remained still. This was unexpected, he thought. They looked like angry men, unsmiling and silent. Why? They had no grievance—it was supposed to be Rhuddlan with the grievance, Rhuddlan which believed one of its own had been murdered by someone from Llanlleyn. So why was that arrow so decidedly fixed on his heart?
Had Haworth sent out other assassins—ones who had not failed—to intercept the messenger, and were his men right now besieging Llanlleyn?
The one with the sword spoke but Longsword didn’t understand a word. He did, however, understand the gestures to throw down his own sword and to remove his boots and hauberk. The first two items were easily discarded but it was nearly impossible for a man to take off his hauberk without help and the Welshman with the spear dismounted and grabbed hold of the armor by the shoulders. As it was pulled over his head, Longsword debated fighting back but thought the better of it. That arrow was certain to fly and he doubted his father would be very impressed with a son who was killed, barefoot, swordless and with his vision obscured by a hauberk, trying to escape from three Welshmen.
The warriors spoke among themselves, obviously discussing what to do with him. He watched them blandly, feeling strangely detached from what was happening. He didn’t think they would kill him; surely they would have done it already and surely Rhirid would wan
t to see him first. He started at the thought. If he went to Llanlleyn, he was certain to see Olwen…What would he say?
The discussion was short. The Welshmen seemed pressed for time but Longsword understood their urgency if Llanlleyn were truly under attack. The spearman took out a knife and cut a long swath of Longsword’s cloak, which he then wrapped around Longsword’s eyes and tied securely. Another rip and a second piece of cloth bound his wrists in front of him. Then the man took his arm and pulled him forward. Longsword’s bare foot stepped down on the point of a stone and he stumbled, immediately expecting to hear shouts and the whiz of the arrow being released and exhaling with relief when nothing happened. His hands were pulled up to the pommel of his saddle, his foot was placed in a stirrup and he hauled himself onto his horse. Reflexively, he felt for the reins but the Welshman had taken them. He was to be led.
The ride was long and fast. It was especially arduous for him because he wasn’t able to see and had no warning when the trail suddenly dipped or inclined or when there was some obstacle over which his horse tripped. He tried contorting his face in every direction to shift the blindfold, to no avail. All he could do was hold on tightly to the pommel.
The land they traveled was forested but every now and then a break in the tree covering would send warm sunshine down onto the top of his head. This ordeal might have been worse, he told himself ruefully; this might have been the day before, and it would be rain running down his head and shoulders, not sunlight, in addition to the other indignities of being bootless, defenseless and trussed up. How Richard would laugh at the sight of him! He smiled to himself and, for a moment, felt his tension lessen.
At last, they halted. Someone gave a tug on his leg and he dismounted. The cloth over his eyes was removed and he blinked and rubbed his bound hands into them. The bowman said something to his companions and walked off. The other two sat on a fallen tree trunk, rummaged in their leather bags and came up with half of a round loaf of bread and chunks of strong cheese. Longsword accepted a share. He sat opposite the Welshmen. The bread was going stale but he was hungry and he gnawed on it while his guards spoke softly to each other and darted occasional glances at him.
The bowman came back, startling everyone with his silent approach. He obviously had important news and the previously murmured conversation became quite animated and the glances in Longsword’s direction became calculating stares. Undaunted, he chewed his cheese and stared back.
By the end of the rough meal, a consensus had apparently been reached. The blindfold was replaced and he was again brought to the horse and helped up. But this wasn’t his horse, nor his saddle. He could tell immediately but before he had a chance to react, one of the Welshmen climbed up behind him. He felt the edge of a knife at the side of his neck and the Welshman said something in an ominous tone.
He heard the remaining men mount up and they set off. Longsword had no idea where he was, no idea where Rhuddlan was. The man sitting behind him was sucking the errant fibers of his afternoon meal through his teeth, practically in Longsword’s ear. Seated on an unfamiliar animal and virtually in the lap of his captor made him very uncomfortable. Every heavy footfall of the horse jarred his shoulders and threatened his balance. He wondered how much longer he would have to endure this humiliation.
Then he heard it: the sounds of fighting.
They were sounds he knew very well. Men shouting, taunting, horse hooves thumping into the soft earth, arrows whining through the air; jeers and cheers. He didn’t need to see the scene to know that his men had not gotten the message…and for some reason, he thought again of Olwen, imagining her sitting nervously with the other women inside Llanlleyn, trying to understand the siege and wondering if Richard were coming to save her.
The knife at Longsword’s throat was so close that he was forced to keep his head back to avoid it but he didn’t need to see to understand what was happening. His captors were bringing him into the fortress. They would have to go right through the besieging Normans to do it and he was their guarantee of safe passage. Any attempt to rescue him or to shoot one of the Welsh would result in his immediate execution.
It was only when he heard the gradual cessation of the fighting that he knew they’d been spotted by his soldiers. He heard fitz Maurice’s loud, urgent command to check all weapons, to give the Welsh and their prisoner a wide berth, repeated over and over. He heard the sudden pounding of approaching hooves and was surprised that someone would go against fitz Maurice’s order and jeopardize his life but then he heard fitz Maurice himself ask him how he fared in an almost frantic voice before the Welsh shouted at him and the blade pinched the thin skin on his neck and he felt a tickle of something roll down under his shirt. He said in as strong a voice as he could muster that he was fine and fitz Maurice answered that he would await his orders. Then Longsword felt the horse beneath him slow and felt himself tip slightly backwards as if they were ascending a short hill. More shouts, the sound of a gate being opened and then shut, level ground and finally the knife dropped away from his neck and Longsword swung his head backwards so viciously that his captor was knocked clean off the horse and fell unconscious onto the packed earth.