Rhuddlan (92 page)

After receiving instruction, someone stepped
forward with a glinting knife blade, gestured for Longsword to show
his arms and cut through the band of twisted cloth around his
wrists.

Guri spoke again and Olwen
said, “Lord William, we don’t know why your men are attacking us.
They arrived at dusk yesterday and made no effort to explain their
presence. But now that
you’re
here, Lord Guri requests you give him this
information.”

Longsword rubbed his wrists and considered
the Welshman with a frown. “Where’s Lord Rhirid? I would rather
speak with him.”

To his surprise, she seemed disconcerted by
his request but before she could respond, Guri snapped something at
her, having caught Rhirid’s name and guessing what Longsword had
said. In a rushed voice, she said, “Please, Lord William, I can’t
answer your questions; Lord Guri says you must answer his. Why are
your men attacking us?”

Her eyes pleaded with him. She looked upset
and again he felt a jolt of a sudden remembrance of Delamere. He
wondered if she already suspected what he must ultimately tell her,
simply because Delamere wasn’t with him. His stridency
weakened.

“Tell Lord Guri that I have been out of
Gwynedd for nine months and have only recently returned. I don’t
know why my men have attacked Llanlleyn. I suggest he invite Warin
fitz Maurice in to discuss it.” Everything from hoots of
incredulous laughter to growls of outrage greeted his words.
Longsword was annoyed. He didn’t want to reveal what Teleri had
said until he had fitz Maurice in front of him. He didn’t want the
Welsh to know that his men were, in fact, physically trapped
between them and the earl’s force.

Guri had been watching him
through narrowed eyes, arms crossed over his chest. He said, “You
were alone when my men found you, Lord William. I’m surprised a
great man like yourself doesn’t travel with a bodyguard…But you
were also travelling in
this
direction and not towards Rhuddlan. How do you
explain that?”

Guri’s voice was hard but Olwen’s translation
was soft and tentative. Longsword suddenly discovered he couldn’t
look at her, for fear one of them would blurt out Delamere’s name.
He returned Guri’s steady stare. “I had an entourage, of course,”
he lied. “But before we could reach Rhuddlan, we were met by two of
my tenants who informed me that there was trouble of some sort at
Llanlleyn. As we were tired from our travels, I decided we would
spend the night at Rhuddlan and leave for Llanlleyn at dawn the
next day. But shortly after we started off again, I realized I
couldn’t wait. I ordered my entourage to continue on and then I
headed here.”

None of the men, Guri in particular, looked
convinced by this flimsy story but Longsword never even blinked and
finally the Welshman nodded.

“We’ll be eating shortly,” he said to
Longsword. “You will join us. I’ll have your boots returned to
you.”

As he turned to leave, Longsword stood up.
Every one of the men facing him grabbed for his sword. “What about
calling in my captain?” he demanded. “Let’s resolve this now!”

“My men and I will discuss the matter, Lord
William, before I make a decision!” Guri said sharply. “Someone
will be sent to bring you to the table.”

Olwen gave him a small, sympathetic smile.
Guri saw it, grabbed her arm and pulled her away with him, leaving
Longsword disgruntled by his refusal to bring in fitz Maurice but
also feeling vaguely relieved, as if he had won a temporary
reprieve from delivering the tragic news of Delamere’s death.

It had come to Haworth as he’d ridden back to
his camp from the fruitless endeavor to obtain Hugh’s release that
he must seize the initiative. He couldn’t simply wait for the
Bastard to return and then fight him; he had no idea what might
happen between Llanlleyn and Rhuddlan. Nor could he mount an attack
against Rhuddlan’s defenses without risking the lives of the men
Lene and Teleri were holding captive, including the earl himself.
And to fight the Bastard on his own ground was to give him an
advantage which could well make up for the difference in size of
the two armies.

So Haworth had decided to chase after
Longsword and his men and confront them as close to Llanlleyn as
possible. Thankfully, his force was fresh after spending an idle
day outside of Rhuddlan; they traveled all day and then through the
night by the light of the full moon and now, just nearly dawn, they
arrived at the Welsh fort. He stopped his soldiers in the obscuring
forest and sent a pair of scouts forward to find the Rhuddlan
encampment.

The remainder of his men rested but Haworth
did not. His mind was racing, full not only of plans for the
immediate fight ahead but also of self-recrimination. After all,
what was now happening was the direct result of the lie he had told
Hugh. He didn’t regret the lie; he knew he’d had to do something to
spark the earl’s interest in living but perhaps the plan had been
too ambitious. Perhaps he ought to have suggested merely lying in
wait himself for the Bastard to cross into Gwynedd upon his return
from Normandy and then murdering him and Richard Delamere. It would
have been risky—Henry would certainly have investigated the
suspicious death of his son—but Haworth had taken risks before. At
least then Hugh would be safe and not a prisoner. If anything
happened to Hugh…Haworth had no idea what he’d do.

He heard a hail and glanced up. His scouts
were returning but they weren’t alone. Haworth squinted to get a
better look and rose to his feet in disbelief. Warin fitz Maurice
raised his hand in greeting and then dismounted and strode towards
him, followed by two of his comrades from Rhuddlan.

“Sir Roger! Well met!” fitz Maurice said
heartily. His face was smiling and showed no sign of mistrust.
Haworth nodded cautiously in return. “Your arrival is timely, to
say the least. I assume the earl told you of our problem? It has
since been compounded.”

Haworth didn’t know how to respond. Had his
men intercepted the messenger after all? They had found the two
bodies when they’d left Rhuddlan the day before and concluded that
Longsword and Delamere had killed them. Or perhaps there had never
been a messenger.

“How so, Sir Warin?” he asked calmly.

“The Welsh ambushed us the day before. One of
my men was killed. And yesterday, as we were avenging our losses,
three warriors rode up to Llanlleyn with a hostage. Lord William
himself.”

“Lord William!” Haworth did not need to feign
his astonishment. “How did that come about?”

Fitz Maurice shook his head. “We had no idea
he was back in Gwynedd. Next we know, he’s being held at
knife-point and taken in to the fortress.”

“Were you able to speak with him?”

“Very briefly. He looked unharmed, but he’d
been blindfolded and tied up. I’m glad to have a knight of your
reputation with us, Sir Roger. We waited all evening yesterday for
the Welsh to come forward with their demands but heard nothing. The
earl offered us your service when he discovered the murdered body
of one of our knights but I thought it was a problem Rhuddlan could
handle on our own. But this,” he made a sweeping gesture in the
direction of Llanlleyn, “changes everything.” He nodded at
Haworth’s men. “You came quickly. The earl is kind to us, even
after I declined the use of his soldiers.”

“We marched through the night, and the road
from Rhuddlan is in good condition,” Haworth said, relaxing a
little. Whatever the story with the messenger, fitz Maurice and his
men hadn’t heard it. An idea was beginning to form in his head, one
which would ensure Hugh’s safe release. He smiled. “Why don’t we
ride to your camp and discuss how we’re going to get Lord William
out of Llanlleyn…and destroy the Welsh.”

Olwen rose early after another sleepless
night of troublesome dreams. Since the birth of her first child,
she’d been a light sleeper, a maternal ear always cocked for the
slightest whimper or call, but the events of the last several days
had transformed concern into something much more intense, with the
result that she was edgy and nervous during the day and would toss
and turn all night.

Usually, thinking about her sons led to a
thought, sometimes fleeting, sometimes lingering, about Richard
Delamere but not now. She wouldn’t let her mind turn in his
direction. Wherever he was, he was safe; their children were
not.

She went out into the damp and chilly air,
shivering. There was little light yet and no one else about. A thin
morning fog obscured the fortress’ timber walls and for a moment
she felt as if she were on the top of a mountain, all alone. The
feeling was calm and peaceful and eased her churning mind. She shut
her eyes and breathed in deep breaths of the cold, wet air and sent
it flooding through her body.

She stood still for a long time, enjoying the
peace and beginning to feel optimistic. Today, somehow, the problem
of Lord William and Rhuddlan would be solved. Tonight she’d see her
sons again. Tomorrow, life would return to normal…or as normal as
it had been for her since January.

An abrasive voice suddenly jarred her from
her pleasant fantasy. She opened her eyes. The voice was shouting
but sounded muted, as if it were travelling a great distance. It
shouted for Guri to present himself. It shouted in Welsh.

Without knowing why, she was terrified. The
voice was obviously outside the fortress but she thought the only
one among Lord William’s men who spoke Welsh with any ease was
Richard and this voice was not his. And the tone of the voice was
confident and unhurried, as if its owner held the upper hand and
wasn’t worried that its master was in danger of physical harm.

She realized she was running across the yard
toward the gate. A few men materialized from the feast house,
looking sleepy and dazed, and there was a look-out in the sheltered
platform above the gate but no great mob yet. No Guri. She ran to
the broad ladder and slowed herself down just enough to climb up
the rungs safely. When her head appeared in the cut-out in the
floor, the guard reached down and helped her up.

“What’s happened? Who is that?” she demanded
breathlessly, not caring that she wasn’t one of Guri’s warriors,
just an unimportant woman, neither servant nor lady, just a sort of
guest whose status was becoming more questionable with every
passing week.

The guard pointed to the far side of the
platform and, now tentative, she went over and looked down onto the
field below. What she saw made her stagger backward, white as a
sheet, gasping for air, blood thudding in her ears, numb and so
oblivious to all else that when Guri and his entourage finally
crowded onto the platform and she was displaced none too gently and
forced back down the ladder, she barely noticed the rough
treatment. She heard and felt nothing and her eyes were filled with
only one image: the picture of her children in the hands of the
Norman soldiers.

Haworth’s horse shifted and snorted,
impatient with the inactivity. Haworth was growing impatient too,
but he didn’t fidget. Instead, as he waited for Guri to appear, he
mentally debated whether or not to demand entrance to Llanlleyn in
order to discuss the release of the Bastard and the handover of the
hostages. It would be the proper custom, of course, but Haworth
didn’t know if the Welsh kept such customs. Guri might well invite
him in and then keep him in, against custom and against his will.
Better to have it done in the open.

The sun rose and light spread, its heat
burning off the mist. The gate of Llanlleyn faced west but as yet
the creeping rays hadn’t reached him. Not much longer, though, and
the sunlight would be full in his face, putting him at a
disadvantage. His horse stepped again and as if this had nudged him
into action, he told the translator at his side to hail Guri one
more time. “And keep on shouting until you see someone,” he added,
wondering if everyone inside had gotten so drunk the night before
that they could not be roused by a strong voice.

Two of his hostages stood on the grass in
front of the men on horseback: a woman and a small boy. The woman
held a younger boy in her arms. As the translator called to
Llanlleyn in a booming voice, the younger child wailed almost as
loudly. It was an annoying and unnerving din. Haworth had to keep
the reins tight to prevent his horse from bolting. He felt like
bolting, too. He had to conjure up an image of Hugh, to focus on it
and remind himself why he was in this predicament.

He glanced to his left. Six of the Bastard’s
knights sat their horses a small distance away from his own men. He
nodded to fitz Maurice and felt easier when the man returned the
acknowledgement. Fitz Maurice had been skeptical about scouring the
forests for hostages but whether because he didn’t believe it was
right for women and children to be bartared in this fashion or
because he wanted to fight for the Bastard man to man against Guri,
Haworth didn’t know. Nor did he care. He simply wanted to win the
Bastard’s release as quickly as possible and drag him, dead or
alive, back to Rhuddlan.

“My lord, someone is there!” the translator
said to him excitedly.

Haworth’s eyes went immediately to the guard
tower. The upper torso of a man was suddenly in evidence but he was
clearly not Guri. Guri would not appear alone. But at least this
man would see the threat in the field below and call for his
master.

And then someone else was there in the tower.
A woman. He could hear her anguished cries as she turned in his
direction and saw her children standing helpless and surrounded by
a dozen armed men. He knew her, of course, and a satisfied smile
creased his lips. As a rule he had no use for women but when they
had somehow been thrust into his life, as this one had when Hugh
had demanded her from Rhirid, he liked to see them suffer for the
intrusion.