Rhuddlan (82 page)

One day in late January, he thumped with
uncharacteristic agitation on the door to Hugh’s outer chamber and
went inside without waiting for a response. He found the earl in
his usual place, seated before the brazier and staring senselessly
into its fiery heart. Hugh did not look up at Haworth’s approach,
nor did he seem to realize there was another person in the room.
Despite his excitement, Haworth halted abruptly, his spirits
sinking and his pity rising as he watched his master.

Hugh’s physical appearance had changed
dramatically as a result of his self-enforced exile. His once
russet hair was now almost completely grey, his beard sparse and
his face drawn and sallow. He had lost so much weight that his
posture was hunched and his movements slow like those of an old
man. But it was the lack of response in his eyes which bothered
Haworth most of all; there was no spark of life in them, nothing to
indicate that something yet lived in his body.

“My lord,” he said softly, standing next to
the brazier, “a messenger from Normandy arrived not long ago. You
have a son, my lord! Healthy and strong, your steward at
Blundeville says!”

He paused and waited for anything in Hugh’s
expression to shift and was disappointed. He wondered if this
lassitude was his fault; if he should have insisted months ago that
Hugh set aside his grief and force himself to participate in normal
activities.

“My lord, did you hear me?” he said more
loudly. “A son…Your line is secure. Hugh—”

“I heard you,” the earl answered.

“Aren’t you pleased? After all you endured
with that woman and her brother—it finally paid off—”

A frown crossed Hugh’s sickly face. “Please,
Roger, let’s not speak of the Bolsovers…I’m too weak.”

“What about your son? Will I send the
messenger back with instructions to bring the child here?”

To Haworth’s surprise, the earl’s head
snapped up and there was suddenly and unexpectedly strong emotion
in his eyes. Horror. “No!” he said forcefully. “Let him remain
where he is! Both of them!”

Haworth knelt down before Hugh. “You have
something to live for now, my lord,” he said in a quiet voice.

The earl laughed harshly. “Do I? It seems to
me I’ve done my work, Roger! If I die now, there will be a new
earl.”

“An infant in the hands of
the king, my lord? As you were once? Do you truly want that for
your son?” When Hugh didn’t answer, Haworth continued,
“
You
must raise
him, my lord, not that cursed house of Anjou.”

“No, no, no…” Hugh whispered.

“Yes, my lord,” Haworth said firmly. He
reached out and gripped Hugh’s shoulders. He was shocked for a
moment by the bony, almost fragile feeling beneath his fingers.
Hugh made no resistance. “You must live! If only to have your
revenge against William Longsword!”

“I don’t care about the Bastard any longer,
Roger. He got the better of me…It’s over between us.”

“Then you don’t care that he murdered Ralph
de Vire…?”

Hugh’s posture stiffened. He turned his
tortured face towards Haworth’s, less than a hand-span away.
“Murdered?” he echoed hoarsely.

“I didn’t want to tell you, my lord,” the
other man said. “I never wanted to tell you because I feared your
reaction. I thought the birth of your son would revive your spirits
but you seem bent on withering away until there’s nothing left of
you. Perhaps the idea of revenge might stir your blood
instead.”

“Tell me, Roger!”

Haworth dropped his hands and leaned back on
his heels. His bearded face was composed, his eyes serious. “My
lord, Sir Ralph’s awful death was the result of his poor timing and
the sudden appearance of a dozen or so soldiers from Rhuddlan,” he
started. “The moment I left you, I went in search of him and found
him in a clearing, engaged with one of the Bastard’s men. They were
duelling and, between blows, calling out to each other with taunts.
It was obvious they knew each other. I was loathe to interfere, my
lord—Sir Ralph would not have appreciated it and probably would
have complained to you that I’d made him look a fool. If I had
thought he was in mortal danger—if for one moment I had conceived
he was ill-prepared for the match—I would have certainly
intervened, but I swear to you, my lord,” he said earnestly, “he
was the better of the two and I had no such apprehensions.”

“Then what the hell happened?” Hugh’s voice
was tight with frustration and bewilderment.

“He fell. He took an unlucky step backwards,
tripped over a tree root and fell. He lost his sword.”

“And his opponent—the Bastard’s man—murdered
him in cold blood?”

“No, my lord! I would never have let that
happen!” Haworth protested. “Of course, I immediately jumped down
from my mount and challenged the Bastard’s knight, if only to
divert attention from Sir Ralph. The tactic worked—the man turned
to me and we began fighting. After a short bout, I gave him a wound
which proved mortal, and it was at that moment that the Bastard and
a dozen or so of his guards galloped like maniacs into the
clearing. I was so outnumbered that when Sir Richard demanded my
sword, I surrendered it. Sir Ralph…he didn’t want to surrender, my
lord.”

Hugh leaned his elbow on the arm of his chair
and covered his face with a hand. He was very still.

Haworth knew the worst thing he could do
would be to make de Vire’s fictitious role seem anything less than
heroic; he had to walk the line between keeping the lie manageable
and raising the young knight beyond mere competence. “He held his
sword out,” Haworth continued, “and shouted that he would take on
the lot of them. The Bastard sent four men to subdue him. It wasn’t
an easy procedure and he nearly killed two of them but ultimately
he was brought before Lord William.”

He paused and peered uncertainly at Hugh, but
the latter did not move. He cleared his throat. “Well…the Bastard
began to shout at Sir Ralph, demanding to know how he had dared
betray Rhuddlan—and him—by joining your service. But he never
allowed Sir Ralph to answer! He went on and on…it almost seemed he
was a bit mad, my lord; it made me nervous because I’d already
given up my sword. Finally the Bastard stopped to draw breath. Sir
Ralph started to defend himself but whatever he said just made the
Bastard angrier until he pulled his own sword and brandished it in
front of Sir Ralph’s nose. I shouted over to him to behave in an
honorable way and Sir Richard begged him not to do anything
foolish, that you were sure to pay a high ransom for the two of us.
But, my lord, as I said, it was as if he’d gone mad. He shouted out
that traitors should all die together and then he…he rushed
straight at Sir Ralph and stabbed him in the stomach. Sir Ralph
never had a chance. It was brutal, deliberate murder, my lord, and
although I admit I had no love for the man, he didn’t deserve to
die like that…”

PART V

Chapter 49

May, 1178

Taillebourg, Angoulême

Longsword reined in,
squinted his eyes at the looming monster in the distance and
whistled in admiration. “If he couldn’t take Pons,” he said in a
low voice to Delamere, “how in the hell does he hope to take
that
?”

Delamere shook his head. “They say
Taillebourg is impregnable.”

“He’s bitten off more than he can chew,
Richard. Five castles in a month is a pretty good feat, even for
the king, but I’m not certain Henry himself wouldn’t have trouble
with this one.”

They spoke in mutters because Richard, duke
of Aquitaine, was close at hand and had a more prickly pride than
even Longsword, his half-brother. The prince, however, was too busy
conferring with his advisers to have overheard these pessimistic
comments, which only encouraged Longsword to further
denigration.

“He razes five castles in one month and now
figures he’s more powerful than God,” he continued. “Of course, the
five castles weren’t perched on top of a rock with sheer drops on
three sides and triple ditches and walls on the fourth. Let’s
see…he’s been besieging Pons since Christmas and it’s now a month
past Easter. Hmm…by that reckoning, Taillebourg should fall
sometime in the next century.”

“It does seem rather
futile…” Delamere agreed. Then he yawned and shrugged. “What does
it matter? We’re only here to help, whatever his scheme. But you
ought to go over there with the others, Will; you
are
one of his
advisers.”

Longsword picked up his reins. “The advisers
are only for formality. Whatever’s decided will be Richard’s
decision alone. I’ve been watching him. He loves this; he loves the
plotting and the fighting, and he’s good at it,” he said with
grudging admiration. He hadn’t been as charitable during the
Rebellion when the two had been on opposing sides. “But he’s not
rash. Well,” he amended before moving off, “at least I didn’t think
so until today.”

When he was gone, Delamere glanced once more
without much interest at the walled city of Taillebourg and then
dismounted and led his horse to the makeshift pens already being
set up by the dozens of laborers whom the prince employed for the
mundane tasks of warfare. There were others to do it, but he
unsaddled and curried the animal, cleaned out its hooves and gave
it feed and water. The longer he kept away from the camp, the fewer
inane conversations about the good weather and the immense castle
he had to endure.

He had thought Longsword’s idea a good one.
To leave Gwynedd for a while and travel, to see different scenery
and perhaps do a little fighting…maybe then his mind wouldn’t be so
consumed with losing Olwen. But after two months of joining the
king’s retinue in Normandy followed by six months of battling
Prince Richard’s rebellious vassals in Aquitaine and Angoulême, he
had come to the wrenching conclusion that he would never be able to
forget her, quite probably because he didn’t want to.

He’d informed Longsword that once Pons fell
to the besiegers, he was returning to Rhuddlan.

Longsword found him after supper lying on his
back with his cloak rolled up beneath his head for a pillow and
staring into the darkening sky. “Good weather,” he said
conversationally. “Hope it’s a good portent for tomorrow.”

“I’m not even going to acknowledge that
remark, Will,” he answered. “What great plan has the prince
devised?”

“First, he wants to offer terms,” Longsword
said, lowering himself onto the ground with a bit of effort. Three
years in Wales seemed to have stiffened his muscles and he found
the activities he’d once done with ease were slightly more arduous.
Delamere had told him the culprit was age, not Wales, but he didn’t
believe that. “Which he fully expects to be rejected.”

“Certainly he hopes they’ll be rejected. What
then?”

“What else? Siege.”

Delamere clicked his tongue in annoyance. At
this rate, he’d never see Rhuddlan again.

“Also, he wants to devastate the fief,”
Longsword added. “Tear up the farmland, drive off the beasts, burn
the villages…”

“How original.” He rolled onto his side and
propped himself up on an elbow. “You don’t sound very excited.”

Longsword shrugged. “It’s like you said.
We’re here to help Richard do whatever he wants.”

“Will, we just spent a very
wet winter sitting outside of Pons, waiting for Richard to break de
Rancon. My hauberk is rusted through in four places but I can’t
afford repair because there’s been precious little plunder and no
ransoms at all. And until a few weeks ago when he decided to get
off his ass and look for easier challenges, this campaign was more
boring than anything we ever did or didn’t do in Wales. And now
what? Taillebourg?
Taillebourg?
If his plan is to burn down the countryside to
deprive ourselves of victuals while every man, woman and child—and
dog—in that city laughs at our folly as they enjoy a hearty supper,
I’m telling you right now I’m leaving. I’ll go back to Rhuddlan at
first light.” When Longsword didn’t reply, he added less
stridently, “You want to leave, too, don’t you?”

“No…”

“Coming here was a bad idea, Will. Admit it.
We ran away.”

“We didn’t!”

Delamere resumed his former position and
clasped his hands behind his head. “We ought to have stayed, if
only to put Rhuddlan to rights. Perhaps it really was too late for
Olwen and I to reconcile but Lady Teleri had finally come around
and we had peace for the first time in a year…We ought to have
stayed,” he repeated. “Clean clothes, comfortable beds, a dozen
servants to jump at your bidding…You’re the master of one of the
king’s castles, Will, but what are you doing here? Giving advice to
someone who isn’t even listening to you.”

After a short moment, Longsword said in a
subdued voice, “I couldn’t stay, Richard. I needed to speak with my
father…”

“Yes? So you did.”

“Concerning an annulment. I needed to know if
he would seek one on my behalf…”

Delamere was surprised. “You never said—”

“Because I knew you wouldn’t approve!”
Longsword said curtly. He flipped a pebble into the distance
impatiently. “And, as it turned out, neither did the king. In fact,
he seemed to find my request amusing and told me to look to the
example of his own marriage.”

It was common knowledge that
since the Rebellion, Queen Eleanor, who had supported and advised
her sons against their father, had been kept a prisoner by her
husband. Despite his mood, Delamere grinned. “Well, that’s one
solution, of course. But, Will, there
is
another. Stop trying to fight her.
She’s decided to make the best of the situation; why can’t you do
the same?”

But Longsword didn’t answer that question. He
flung away another pebble instead.