The Whispering Night (29 page)

His mind began to swirl
and he labored to stop the building madness. Had he stood there any longer
gazing into William’s eyes, he would have strangled him. With the greatest
effort, he pulled himself away and paced the floor, slowly, struggling with
every fiber of his being to clear his thoughts. He had to regain control if he
was going to get himself and Derica out of this alive.

The conversation he had
with Fergus in the gatehouse filled his brain. It was the most peculiar
conversation they had ever had. Unspoken words and innuendos had brought Garren
to the conclusion that Fergus may have actually worked for the Prince. But that
was not the case. He wondered why the deception, the evasiveness. Fergus was
trying to throw him off track, yet he had been trying to protect him also.
Garren began to realize that Fergus was trying to steer him away from Chepstow.
Fergus knew what was waiting for him. He had been trying to convince him to
stay at Cilgarren and stay far away from Chepstow. 

Fergus had known. Garren
felt like a fool for not understanding what his friend had been trying to tell
him.

“Fergus promised me that
he would protect her,” he heard himself mutter. “I cannot believe that he would
betray his word.”

William could feel
himself weakening. He loved Garren like a son and it was a difficult situation.
He was a man, too, and could understand the pangs that came with love.  But he
understood England more, and knew what was necessary to preserve her future.
Garren was, and always had been, an integral part of that plan.

“He will protect her as
long as you fulfill your duty,” William said quietly. “She could be in no
better hands.”

Garren didn’t respond.
He was shutting William out, killing all of the feelings of admiration and
affection he had ever experienced for the old man. William sensed this.

“Garren,” he got as
close to him as he dared, afraid that in his turmoil the knight might actually
strike out. “I will promise you this; lead our armies to victory and I will
release you from Richard’s service. I will provide you with an army of your
own, lands and title, so that you and your wife may live your years in comfort
and security. Do as I ask now and your future is secure.  Betray me and you
shall lose everything.”

Garren looked at him,
his eyes full of venom and resignation. He knew he had no choice and there was
nothing left to say but the obvious.

“By your command, my
lord.”

It had been a struggle
to speak the words. Garren’s pride was wounded, his heart damaged, but he knew
what he must do. The Marshall was sad and pleased at the same time that
Garren’s call of duty meant his liberation and, quite possibly, his death.

“I am sorry it has to be
this way, Garren.”

“The hell you are, my
lord.”

William returned to his
solar without another word, greeted by a host of expectant faces as he resumed
covering the plans of battle. Garren came in behind him with no hint of what
had transpired in that tiny room. For all the others knew, there had been a
detailed war conference between the Marshall and his greatest knight. Garren
and William would not let anyone think otherwise.

The stage was set

***

Fall was upon the land.
The lush hills of Wales were turning shades of golds, some reds and browns, and
the heavy fog that was normally so prevalent had been in reprieve a few weeks. 
It was a lovely time of year.

          Derica sat at
the top of the hill overlooking the River Teifi.  The swollen waters rushed
below her, echoing off the rock. She had a basket beside her, filled with wild
turnips and blackberries she had harvested from the uncultivated vines that ran
along the side of the castle.  It wasn’t food that was settling particularly
well in her stomach these days, but nothing seemed to be. The child in her
growing belly was particular about what he ate, making his mother miserable at
times.

The child also made her
cry or rage in an instant. Sometimes she could do both at the same time. Fergus
had borne the brunt of her hysteria most of the time, in the dismal evenings
when she would miss Garren horribly and she would demand Fergus go search for
him.  Fergus would try to soothe her, as did Emyl and Offa and David, but she
would rage at all of them and cry pitifully.  Then there would be periods of
sunshine when she was the sweetest angel in the land. But the angel was giving
way to the crazed woman more often than not, especially the more time passed
and the more Garren did not return.  Things were growing darker.

This morning seemed
particularly bleak. Derica had done little but sit on the hill for most of it.
She felt as if she had a great hole inside of her, impossible to fill except
for the sight of Garren walking through the gatehouse. But nearly three months
had passed since she last saw him on that rainy morning and the more time
passed, the more desperation she felt. It was difficult to be continually
optimistic, and to have faith in his promise. On this sweet morning, her
confidence was in danger of disappearing completely.  She had sat on the hill
and cried.

She heard footsteps
behind her, jolting her from her bleak thoughts. Quickly wiping her cheeks, she
wasn’t surprised to see David’s dark eyes gazing shyly down at her.

“I thought I would take
the basket from you,” he said. “It looks like a fine harvest.”

Derica smiled weakly,
handing him the goods. “My thanks.”

David stood there a
moment, awkwardly.  “Will you be coming back now?”

She shook her head. “Not
now. I will in a while.”

“I shall wait for you.”

“Please don’t. I shall
be along shortly.”

David didn’t want to
leave her alone, for he knew how it was with her these days. But he respected
her wishes and left. He was a quiet man, very gentle, and his feelings for
Derica were no secret even though he thought he concealed them quite nicely.  
He and Offa had gone out of their way to repair what was repairable for her,
cleaning and roofing two rooms on the second floor of the north tower with a
view overlooking the river. Fergus and Emyl lived below her on the first floor,
while David and Offa maintained the loft in the great hall.

David was a good
craftsman, using wood from the trees surrounding the castle and other items to
fashion a bed for her.  From wood, he had also fashioned bowls, eating
utensils, a crude chest and chair, and a handloom. Then he had sold his dead
brother’s sword and purchased six sheep, carefully shearing them of their old
wool so that Derica had something to make yarn and fabric with. Even though it
was nearing winter and the sheep were cold without their wooly coats, the hair
was growing back quickly.

Their life at Cilgarren
was not as desolate as it could have been. They had food and were moderately
comfortable, and the de Rosas had not come around in all the time they had been
there.  The only thing missing was Garren, and because Derica felt it like a
knife, they all did.

David was crossing the
bailey towards the kitchen when Emyl came hurrying in through the inner
gatehouse. He was laden with items he had purchased in town with some of the
money remaining from the sale of Guy’s sword.  He struggled towards David, who
set the basket down and took the sack of grain from the old man’s shoulders.
Emyl wiped his forehead.

“Where is Fergus?” he
demanded.

“In the hall, I think.
Is something wrong?”

Emyl could only shake
his head as he moved in the direction of the hall. “News. My son must hear of
this.”

David put the grain and
vegetables in the kitchen. He went to find Offa and the two of them hurried to
the hall. Emyl was sitting on a bench, wiping his forehead again and huffing
about his age. Fergus, who had been mending a stool, sat on the table beside
his father.

“You’re sure about this,
Da?”

“Sure enough.”

Offa spoke. “What is it?
What’s happened?”

“News,” Emyl said. “I
heard in town. There were Welsh knights, talking to the smith.”

“What news?”

The old man fixed the
small group with a heady gaze. “A big battle, Richard against John. All the
armies of the empire have been called to fight against each other.”

The implication was not
lost on Fergus; his eyes closed for a moment as if to ward off the very idea of
it. “So it has begun.”

“Aye, it has. And there
is more. William Marshall rallied a huge army from the south and met John’s
mercenaries at Tick Hill Castle. It was an enormous battle with many lives
lost.  John’s loyalists have captured thirteen castles about England’s
midsection and Richard’s armies are struggling to regain ground lost. All of
England is in turmoil.”

Now, it all made sense.
Fergus knew exactly where Garren was; if he wasn’t dead already, he was in the
middle of the great bloody war that had gripped the country.  Feelings of dread
and guilt swept him.

“How long has this been
going on?” he asked.

“Since July.”

Fergus ran a weary hand
across his face, his thoughts racing. As a knight, he knew his only course of
action would be to find the Marshall’s army, find Garren, and join the
fighting. But William Marshall had ordered him to watch over Derica. There was
also the small matter of promising Garren that he would take care of his wife.
Still, Derica had three men willing and able to see to her every need, and if
the civil war was indeed raging, then the likelihood of Garren forsaking his
duties to come back to Derica was slim.

Fergus had carried out
his mission for the Marshall, in his opinion. Besides, he never could have
truly killed her. The Marshall would have been wiser to assign that task to
someone who hadn’t known Garren like a brother. Now, the civil war they had
feared for years was finally bearing fruition and Fergus knew where his place
should be, as it had been many times; beside Garren in battle.

“Do we know where the
fiercest fighting is at present? Did the Welsh knights say?”

“Northamptonshire, they
say,” Emyl replied. “Seems that John’s loyalists are embedded at Rockingham
Castle. Damn big place.  Richard’s army is trying to unseat them and regain the
castle.”

Fergus nodded in
thought. The news was probably a few weeks old. The only thing to do would be
to ride to Chepstow to find out what he could, and then follow the trail from
there.  He began to move as Emyl and the others watched him with closely.

“Where do you go?” Emyl
demanded.

Fergus found his leather
jerkin. “I go to war.”

“Why?” the old man was
distressed. “This is not your war, son.”

Fergus looked at his
father. “There are many things you do not know, things which I have not
explained to you. Since I do not have the time, suffice it to say that any war
of Richard’s is a war of mine. It is also a war of Garren’s and I can promise
you that he has been in the midst of the fighting since it began.”

The others passed
glances between them. “What do you mean? He was to go to his father’s aid
against the de Rosas.” Emyl said.

Fergus sighed, wondering
how much he should tell them. “It is possible that he has. But my suspicion is
that he is involved in the civil war now enveloping the county. I must go and
help him.”

His explanation only
left them more confused. There was some bickering and chatter as Fergus
gathered his possessions, only to turn to the doorway to see Derica standing
there. From the expression on her face, Fergus knew she had heard far more than
she should of. He silently cursed himself for not noticing her until this
moment.

His manner softened
dramatically.  “How much did you hear, love?”

She stared at him.
“Where are you going? What has happened to my husband?”

Fergus was truthful, yet
he also wanted to reassure her very much that what he was doing was in her and
Garren’s best interest.  “England is erupting into civil war,” he said plainly.
“If you know about your husband, and I suspect you do, then you know he is
involved. I must go and help him. I do this so that he may return to you. Do
you understand?”

Derica gazed at him,
torn between horror and hope. Tears suddenly filled her eyes. “Oh… Fergus,” she
whispered. “He is fighting for William Marshall, isn’t he?”

Fergus put his hands on
her shoulders. “I believe so.”

“This civil war I heard
you speak of,” she said. “Richard and John are fighting for rule of the
country?”

“Aye,” he nodded. “I
cannot explain how it is that I know, but I can promise you that William
Marshall has ordered Garren in to battle.”

“You serve the Marshall,
too.”

His expression softened,
winking at her when he was sure the others could not see. “You must trust me,
Derica. I have to go find Garren and help him.”

Tears spilled down her
cheeks. “War,” she murmured again, her knees suddenly weakening. Fergus took a
good hold of her and helped her sit. “It is possible that he is already dead. 
That is why he has not returned to me.”