Isle of Glass (29 page)

“But—” Alf began.

“It’s her wish as much as mine. Take her, Alf.”

“My lord, I can’t.”

Alun sighed. “You can’t, but you shall.” He sat by the fire,
warming his good hand. “Now. Tell me what your King will do.”

“Won’t you see him yourself?” asked Morwin.

“Not until tomorrow, when Kilhwch comes.” Alun’s gaze
crossed Alf’s, held for a moment, flicked away. “Then we’ll meet, all three of
us.”

“Gwynedd and Anglia and Rhiyana,” Alf said. “That will be an
alliance to reckon with.”

“It will indeed,” said Alun.

The King of Gwynedd rode into St. Ruan’s in the late
morning, his dragon banner leaping and straining in a strong wind, the sunlight
flaming on his scarlet cloak. Richard waited in the courtyard with his knights
about him, vivid figures among the brown-robed monks.

Kilhwch reined his mettlesome stallion to a halt and sprang
down. At first glance he seemed ordinary enough, a short stocky young man with
a heavy, almost sullen face. But the eyes under the black brows were striking,
steel-grey, piercing; flashing over the assembly, taking in each face.

They paused several times, at Richard, at the Abbot, at
Aylmer. And, for a long moment, at Alf.

He stepped forward, stripping off his gloves and thrusting
them into his belt. “Well, my lord of Anglia, you’re here before me.”

His voice was harsh, clipped, his manner abrupt. Richard’s
eyes were glinting. “I left as soon as I saw your messenger off. He arrived
safely?”

“Safely and in good time, with plenty of good to say about
you.” Kilhwch’s eyes flicked to Morwin. “My lord Abbot, you’re generous to lend
us your hospitality. If your Brothers would see to my men, we could get to our
business.”

o0o

The Kings ate at the Abbot’s table with Bishop Aylmer and
one or two of the knights, attended by their squires. In spite of his
impatience, Kilhwch seemed content to debate the merits of Frankish and
Alemannish chargers and to tell long tales of the hunt and of the joust. He did
not move to speak of either war or peace.

He watched Alf steadily, with a look almost of puzzlement.
He glanced from the fair strange face to the royal leopards ramping on the
tabard, from the hands that poured his King’s wine to the head that bent to
catch a comment from the hulking lad in the Bishop’s livery.

With each glance his frown deepened. At last he leaned
toward Richard. “Your esquire. Who is he?”

Richard bit off half a leg of capon and chewed it
deliberately. “Why? Have you seen him before?”

Kilhwch shook his head impatiently. “How long has he been
with you?”

“Not long at all. Less than a month.”

Kilhwch sat back. His bafflement was turning to anger. “He’s
been tonsured. Did you snatch him out of a monastery?”

“Yes. This one, in fact.” Richard grinned at Morwin. “The
Abbot’s generosity is legendary.”

The young King turned toward Alf, who stood with the other
squires by the wall. “You, sir! Come here.”

Alf came quietly, with that calm of his which could have
passed for haughtiness. “My lord?” he asked.

“What is your name?” Kilhwch demanded.

“Alfred, Sire.”

“Alfred? Is that all?”

“Of St. Ruan’s, Sire.” Alf smiled a very little. “I have no
lineage to speak of. If it’s that you’re looking for, you should talk to my
lord Bishop’s esquire. He has pedigree enough for both of us.”

“Your pedigree doesn’t concern me,” snapped Kilhwch. “I had
a message from one of the Folk, who gave me to think that he was with my lord
of Anglia. But you’re not he. Where is he?”

“Here.”

Kilhwch leaped up. Aylmer too had risen, his face as
unreadable as ever.

The young King all but vaulted over the table, and dropped
to one knee. "My lord!” he cried. “What have you done to your sword hand?”

“Little,” Alun answered him, raising him and embracing him
as a kinsman.

He pulled away, eyes blazing. “You went to Rhydderch. After
all my warnings, you went to Rhydderch. And he well-nigh killed you, from the
look of you. I’ll have his hide for a carpet!”

“You will do no such thing.” Alun’s soft voice had a
startling effect. The King of Gwynedd subsided abruptly, like a child rebuked
by his father.

Richard watched them with great interest. “So,” he said,
“you’re the one who ran afoul of my baron.”

Alun nodded, bowing slightly. “My lord of Anglia. I am glad
that at last we meet.”

“I’ve you to thank for my new esquire—and for the fact that
I'm here and not waging war against Gwynedd. You’re a shameless meddler, Sir
Rhiyanan.”

Kilhwch whipped about. “Keep a civil tongue in your head,
sir!”

Richard’s teeth bared. “I may be rough-spoken, but I don’t
run like a dog at some hedge-knight’s heel.”

“Damn your insolence! Would you speak so of a king?”

“King?” Richard laughed. “King of what? Rags and patches?”

Aylmer stirred. “No,” he said. “Rhiyana.”

While his King stood speechless, he approached the man in
the brown robe and knelt as Kilhwch had knelt. “Your Majesty. I thought perhaps
it was you.”

“And why did you think that?” asked Alun, who was Gwydion.
The hand with which he raised the Bishop flamed with the blue fire of his
signet.

Aylmer shrugged. “It was like you to do something of the
sort.”

“Nonsense!” Richard burst out. “Gwydion of Rhiyana is
unspeakably ancient. This is a boy with his first beard. How old are you, lad?
Twenty? Twenty-two?”

“Eighty-one,” said the Elvenking, limping forward. Jehan,
closest of the squires, leaped to offer him a chair at the end of the high
table.

Richard shook his head stubbornly. The grey eyes rested upon
him, quiet, amused, and uncannily wise in the smooth youth’s face.

“Sire,” Alf said. “He is who he says he is.”

Richard glared at him. “You knew?”

“From the beginning.”

“And you never said—”

“I did not wish it.” Gwydion accepted a cup of mead from
Alf’s hand and sipped it. “It’s one thing for the King of Rhiyana to ride
abroad alone and under a false name, and another altogether for him to suffer
violence at the hands of a foreign king’s vassal.”

“That,” growled Kilhwch, returned now to his place, “it
surely is. Before God, that swine shall pay for it.”

Richard tugged at his beard, scowling fiercely. “Did he know
who you were?”

“Only that I was Rhiyana’s ambassador,” Gwydion answered.

“And in Rhiyana, do they know?”

“No.” Gwydion set down his cup. “My brother’s face is the
image of mine. I left him holding the crown and the throne; those of our people
who saw me go thought I was Aidan, fleeing the peace of Caer Gwent. They think
so still.”

“Not for long,” Kilhwch muttered. “Wait until Aidan finds
out that you’ve been stirring up scorpions’ nests on the Marches of Anglia.
Half the exploits he’s known for are yours—but this one was harebrained even
for him.”

Gwydion’s face grew stern, although his eyes glinted. “Hush,
lad! You’re giving away state secrets. As far as anyone knows, I sit serenely
and pacifically on my throne, and Aidan rides far and wide upon his errantries.
Would you ruin the reputations we’ve labored so hard to build?”

“You’ve already done it. Spectacularly. And it will be even
more spectacular when Aidan gets wind of it.”

“Not if we turn failure to success,” Gwydion said. “Here we
sit all together, which is a thing Lord Rhydderch never looked for. Shall we
thwart him further?”

“How?” demanded Richard.

“That’s for us to decide. Shall we begin?” He glanced to
Morwin. “By my lord Abbot’s leave.”

Morwin bowed his assent. “Alf—bring out the best wine, the
Falernian. And see if Brother Wilfred has any cheese.”

o0o

Jehan followed Alf on his errand. In the odorous dark of the
wine cellar, he gave himself free rein. “Brother Alf! Is Alun really Gwydion?”

“Yes.” Alf blew dust from an ancient jar and peered at the
inscription on its side. “Greek wine,” he muttered.

“You really have known all the time?”

“Almost.” The second jar was Greek also; he frowned.

“How did you know?”

“I was in his mind. He thinks like a King. High, haughty,
and most wise.” Alf sneezed. “Pest! where is it?”

Jehan held up a small cask. “Here.”

Alf glared, and suddenly laughed. “Why didn’t you tell me?”

“I wanted you to talk to me. What do you think the kings
will do?”

“Kilhwch and Richard will squabble and drink and squabble
some more. Gwydion will keep them from each other’s throats.”

“And then?”

“With luck they’ll come to an agreement.”

Jehan tucked the cask under his arm and followed Alf among
the cobwebbed shelves past the tuns of ale. As he mounted the steps to the
pantry he said, “They ought to bring Rhydderch here and make him answer for all
he’s done.”

“That’s not an ill thought.”

Jehan almost dropped his burden. “Thea, for the love of God!
Can't you ever come on gradually?”

She laughed and stepped back. Alf closed and locked the
door, not looking at her, but Jehan could not tear his eyes away. She stood
resplendent in the garb of a high lady, a gown of amber silk embroidered with
gold and belted with gold and amber; a golden fillet bound her brows. Rather
incongruously, she carried a wheel of cheese wrapped in fine cloth.

“Where did you get the gown?” Jehan asked her.

“From the air,” she answered. “Where else?” She set the
cheese in Alf’s unwilling hands and pirouetted in the narrow space of the
pantry. “Do you like it?”

“You look beautiful,” Jehan said sincerely.

Her eyes danced from him to Alf, who had said nothing at
all. “You don’t agree, little Brother?”

He met her gaze. “Lady, you are beautiful, and you know it.”

“And you.” Her mockery was brave but shaky. “You make an
extraordinarily handsome young squire.”

“And an extraordinarily dilatory one. Many thanks for
fetching the cheese; will you let me by to take it to Their Majesties?”

“Better yet, I'll go with you.”

He opened his mouth to protest, closed it again. “Come,
then.”

o0o

The kings were deep in converse with the Abbot and the
Bishop, but Thea’s arrival silenced them abruptly. Kilhwch grinned a sudden,
startling grin. “Thea Damaskena! What are you doing here?”

“Waiting on my liege lord,” she replied with a flash of her
eyes, “since he won’t let me give his game away to his noble brother.”

“And performing an occasional miracle on the side,” Richard
put in, rising. “Demoiselle, you have my deepest gratitude for saving the life
of a certain worthless cleric.”

She sank down in a deep curtsey, but her eyes were bright
and bold. “You are welcome, Majesty.”

Alf had set the cheese on the sideboard and begun with great
diligence to cut it. Richard looked from him to Thea, and smiled with a slight
edge. “May I ask you something, Lady?”

She inclined her head.

“Why did you do it?”

“Why not?”

Richard laughed. “I can see you’re a match for him.”

“She’s a match for any male alive,” said Kilhwch.

“What woman isn’t?” She settled between Gwydion and the
young King. “Well, sirs. How goes the battle?”

Kilhwch sat back with folded arms, glowering at the table.
“Nowhere,” he muttered, “and to no purpose. I won’t have Anglia’s army on my
lands, even to round up Rhydderch`s troops.”

“And I can’t control him if I can’t get at him,” snapped
Richard. “If he’s not in his castle, I’ll damned well have to go after him.”

“Take his castle and hold his people hostage.”

“That won't be enough. He'll raise the whole Marches around
me.”

“Then take the whole Marches! Or aren’t you king enough for
that?”

Richard rose, hand to dagger hilt.

Thea laughed like a clash of blades. “Don’t be such
witlings! There’s a better way than that.”

“And what may it be?” Gwydion asked.

“It’s not my idea,” she said. “Come here, Jehan. Tell them.”

The novice started and nearly poured wine into Aylmer’s lap.
Deftly the Bishop relieved him of flask and cup and said, “Speak up, boy. What
would you do if you were a king?”

He swallowed. For the merest instant, he hated Thea
cordially. But they were all staring, even Brother Alf; and something in Thea’s
eyes made him forget fear.

“It’s just a simple thing,” he said. “You talk about armies
and invading each other’s lands and stopping uprisings. Why can’t you send for
Rhydderch and make him come here? He’ll have to obey a royal command,
especially if it comes from three kings at once.”

Gwydion nodded, for all the world like Brother Alf when he
had just asked a question and got the answer he wanted. “A point well taken.
How could you be certain that he wouldn’t destroy your messenger and claim
afterward that none had come?”

“I’d be very careful to send someone with rank enough that
his loss would be noticed. And I’d give him a strong escort—half from Anglia,
maybe, and half from Gwynedd. With a binding on him that if he weren’t heard
from within a certain length of time, then both kings would fall on Rhydderch
with all the power they could muster.”

There was a silence. Jehan’s palms were damp; he wiped them
surreptitiously on his hose. Both Richard and Kilhwch were frowning. Gwydion,
who seldom wore any expression at all, was staring into his cup.

It was he who spoke. “Well, my lords? Would it please you to
bring Rhydderch face to face with his crimes?”

“The one against you most of all,” Kilhwch said fiercely.
“Yes, by God. Yes!”

Richard arranged crumbs in careful order on his trencher,
line by line. “One would almost think,” he said idly, “that my lord of Rhiyana
had had this in mind all the while.”

“And if he had,” asked Thea, “would it matter?”