Memories of the Heart (28 page)

Taliesan was alive but to keep him so, Lady Angwen as mistress of Westbourne had three days in which to either cede the whole of the fiefdom to King Stephen or prepare to receive her son's dead body.

A further warning accompanied the ominous demand. Farleith had taken as captives serfs from Westbourne's outlaying villages and farms. If any attempt were made to attack or lay siege to the Lord James's keep, one by one they would be killed and placed on pikes lining its palisade wall.

Untrained for the tactics of war, still the women realized that the only option given was a fool's choice since Westbourne was lost on either hand. Even if not immediately yielded to the king, once the fiefdom's only male heir was killed, it would be leaderless and easily conquered.

Knowing her duty, a chastened Angwen led the way back down to the great hall where trestle tables had been cleared away but castle inhabitants remained, tensely waiting for news. The haughty Lady Angwen surprised her Welsh companions by requesting that they join her on the dais while she shared the contents of the recently delivered parchment with her people.

As news of the demanded surrender of Westbourne to King Stephen in exchange for the life of their earl spread across the hall, a deep rumble of frustrated defiance rose from the crowd. Not one among them would willingly see Lord Taliesan's life forfeit yet the prospect of meekly surrendering was nearly as monstrous.

One harsh voice roared out above the rest. “I say we march at once and burn the wretch's keep to ground.”

An immediate storm of disagreeing assertions overwhelmed even the rarely quiet hall.

More than one woman wailed, “Think of all the innocent captives they would slaughter.”

“Lord Tal would die.” Disgust for the fool who'd suggested such a risk coated the words.

“Not if we rescue him first!” A hotheaded guardsmen argued.

“How?” Another instantly demanded. “How when you know they'll have their noble hostage, their prize, trussed and prepared for execution?”

“Quiet!” With the same talent for quiet command that Tal had recognized, Sir Alan took control of the chaos and moved to face the crowd grown belligerent. “Think rationally with your mind not your heart and never your resentment. As our earl cautioned, remember that the best way to ensure our foes' victory is to do their work for them by fighting amongst ourselves.

“'Struth, Lord Tal is hostage and too many of Westbourne's people are captive.” Alan's stern gaze turned from one guardsman to the next. “It's just as certainly a fact that if we attack without calm planning, our enemies will assuredly delight in carrying out their threats.”

Alan waited for the uproar to recede into strained murmurs before making sure that the hazards faced were comprehended by all.

“If the heartless execution of innocent captives fails to halt our onslaught, there is no doubt but that they'll hold Lord Taliesan as the final shield—and gladly destroy him before our eyes.”

Ceri's heart plummeted beneath the weight of graphically stated threats repeated by the knight standing below her position on the dais. Had she won her quest only to lose its heart to such dastardly evil?

Forcing her thoughts from vile images, Ceri rose from behind the high table, an unexpected action which instantly won the attention of all.

“As Sir Alan says—” Ceri's steady voice carried throughout the vast chamber. “Our foes have made it abundantly clear that the act of going with force of arms to rescue our earl is doomed to a ghastly end.”

“However—” Ceri paused and drew a deep breath for courage to propose a scheme for victory suggested by Gran Mab the previous night. “What if those inside Farleith Keep are rendered helpless, even unconscious before Westbourne's force arrives?”

Utter silence reigned. Even if she was a witch, this mysterious Welshwoman's suggestion would be welcome … if it could be trusted … if it could be accomplished.

Lady Angwen recognized this as the moment for her to take on an important role which only she could play. She rose to stand at Ceridwen's side and issue a firm order in her most commanding tone.

“Perform, without question, whatever instructions you are given by my three friends from Llechu—Ceridwen, Vevina, or Mabyn.”

Though startled to be claimed a friend, Ceri was relieved that the fiefdom's lady had issued the necessary order and pleased by the prompt willingness to obey shown by those commanded.

The castle was soon emptied as a strange army of sorts flowed beyond bailey walls to sweep through the forests encircling tilled fields. Armed not with weapons but containers of all shapes and sizes, they searched for an often elusive prize.

At the end of a long day they returned exhausted but triumphantly bearing a small treasure-trove of tiny white berries that were deadly eaten en masse but whose juice, when added as mere droplets to other elixirs, induced a beneficial sleep.

The kitchens bustled with activity while, under the seneschal's command and Mabyn's careful directions, the process of reducing bitter berries to a colorless liquid began. Once that task was well under way Ceridwen slipped out in search of a young friend she knew could be trusted for an important mission.

“Thomas—” Ceri called from the opening of a deserted stall being cleaned by the boy. “For your lord's sake, I have a task for you to undertake.”

“Whatever you wish, I will do gladly for either the earl or for you.” A spark of hope warmed the dejected boy's gaze as he earnestly offered his help. Though the nasty hostage taking had occurred only the previous day, it seemed to him a bleak lifetime had passed.

“My aunt told me that you've already been to Grendel's Tor?” Though a statement, Ceri posed it as a question and only continued after a tousled head nodded. “Go again during predawn light but wait concealed in forest gloom until you see my friend, Lloyd, arrive.”

It was a simple enough deed and Tom was thrilled to think that by so easy a chore he might be a part of his Lord's rescue.

“What would you have me tell Lloyd? Or is he meant to give me a message for you?”

For nearly the first time since the previous day's unhappy events, Ceri's grin reappeared. “Probably both.”

Tom returned her grin and listened intently as she continued.

“Tell Lloyd about the preparation of our berry elixir and plan with him another meeting on the morrow. It's then that you'll take a covered vessel filled with that liquid to give him.”

When Ceri returned to the hall she was pleased that the first small amount of the desired potion had been produced. At Lady Angwen's suggestion, the colorless, odorless liquid would be poured into the same delicate flask that Ceri had once been warned to handle with the special care due its great value.

Chapter 21

Formed all of wood, Farlieth Keep possessed no stone dungeons. Therefore, the enemy earl was held hostage in a prison different but no less unpleasant.

Taliesan sat trapped in the oppressive darkness of a root cellar dug many feet down into the cold, damp earth and only minimally braced against collapse by a pitifully few rotting timbers. He'd no idea how much time had passed since he was rudely shoved from daylight into this vile pit between keep's back and palisade wall. But by the parched dryness of his throat and hungry rumbling of his belly, he assumed it must have been a considerable length of time.

The only thing Tal did know for certain was that while standing to rise on his toes and reach as high as possible, he couldn't touch the heavy, iron-bound doors closed above.

Though it might portend greater danger, even death, Tal couldn't help but welcome the grating noise of a long metal bar sliding free of outer loops to permit the overhead portal's reopening.

Suddenly from where one side of the barrier had been a moment before the single inhabitant of Farleith Keep Tal had wanted to see was gazing down at him—finally. He'd had begun to wonder if the man's second oath of loyalty was as unreliable as his first.

“Thought by now you'd be in need of this.” Lloyd dropped a crude homespun sack to the earthen cellar's uneven floor. “Must be, considering your captors' complete disinterest in keeping you healthy—or even alive.”

“Food? You brought food?” Tal's disgust was clear in the brief, derisive glance he cast toward the edibles spilled from the bag.

“And water—” Lloyd wryly added. “Clear water rather than the brackish liquid given prisoners—and seldom at that.”

Irritated by this waste of valuable time, Tal curtly demanded, “Help me out of this vile prison and I'll secure my own.”

Lloyd went solemn. “I would've come to free you much sooner if the deed were that easily done.” When a low growl rumbled from his lord, Lloyd asked, “Would you have your freedom at the cost of many innocent lives?”

“What?” Dark brows crashed in a deep scowl.

“Lord James has taken as captives many serfs from Westbourne's outlying villages and farms. Should you escape or the warriors from your garrison lay siege to the keep, one by one they'll be killed and their dead bodies displayed on vicious pikes lining Farleith's palisade wall.”

“Surely after the time you've spent standing as ally to my enemy you can aid in their liberation?” Despite his question, Tal's hope for the rescue of any among Westbourne's own was dwindling. A bleak prospect for the earl who strived to be an honorable lord worthy of his people's loyalty.

“Would that I could,” Lloyd answered. “But the prisoners are divided between many sites and each gaoler knows the position of only his own. Sir James alone possesses the secret to where all are imprisoned, and he never shares with anyone, not even his staunchest supporters.”

The steady golden light in Tal's gaze penetrated the gloom while he quietly asked, “In exchange for my future, my very life, what does Farleith demand?”

Lloyd's response was prompt and succinct. “Lady Angwen's complete surrender of Westbourne to King Stephen.”

With clenched hands and gritted teeth, the powerful warrior and great tactician that Tal was snarled his frustration against this impossible situation.

“Be calm,” Lloyd hastily cautioned. “Ceri, Vevina, and even your mother have agreed with Mabyn upon a fine scheme which with my help will safely set you free without endangering the lives of others.”

Tal frowned. Three Welshwomen, his mother, and this man of questionable loyalties thought to rescue him without paying his freedom's price with the blood of many others?

Before Taliesan could demand an explanation, distant sounds muffled by darkness intruded. The opening overhead slammed shut and an instant later the metal bar was shoved back into place.

*   *   *

At the end of the second full day after Tal's capture by a knight of no honor, an uneasy cloud of ever-increasing tension hovered over Castle Westbourne. Impatiently waiting warriors were ready with weapons well honed in anticipation of the moment for their use—a moment at last very near.

Tom had journeyed to meet Lloyd yet another time at Grendel's Tor. And the beautiful flask filled with a potent, berry elixir had been delivered before he returned with news of the specific hour for launching the final blow.

When Lady Angwen and the three generations of Welshwomen who'd become her near constant companions stepped into the castle's largest chamber, garbed in black cloaks, the people realized that the appointed time had finally arrived.

Wearing proud dignity like fine armor, Angwen led the way through the stone tunnel to exterior steps and then down into the courtyard where saddled horses awaited. The grinding noise of the drawbridge's chains was soon followed by the thunder of hooves thudding across its wooden surface.

While Westbourne's armed force set off through the night on their desperate mission, the inhabitants of Farleith Keep toasted their success by lifting a wide variety of vessels from crockery mugs to goblets of chased gold. It was an action often repeated since their victorious return with the hostage earl. But this time the drink was expected to be even more intoxicating, more potent because the wine had been enhanced with small drops of an elixir which Lloyd swore he'd stolen from Lady Angwen herself.

“To our benefactress—” Lord James loudly proposed once the new mixture had been served to the whole company. “We'll enjoy her unintentional gift more than ever she could.”

The toast brought rowdy laughter that in nowise slowed the quaffing of vast draughts by the many crowded into the hall.

“How is it that our guest of honor is absent?” Ulrich asked the question certain of its response and anxious to gloat over the proud captive brought low. “Shouldn't the earl have the privilege of watching us consume this exceptional nectar from his mother's private stock?”

No sooner had the query been posed than a group of noisy guardsmen too sotted for sense slipped outside to open the cellar, bind, and drag Lord Taliesan into the midst of their ongoing revelry.

Abruptly jerked into a bright, crowded chamber, Tal rapidly blinked against the assault of massed candleflame on eyes that had seen little light for hours—or was it days? Squinting, he glanced painfully at his surroundings, making no effort to shield his disdain for this unpleasant gathering.

“Here your lordship—” A drunken warrior with an overfull mug in his hand chortled as he stumbled close to the bound hostage left standing while most sat comfortably at tables burdened with remnants of a feast. “Have a taste of what was plundered from
your
castle.”

The mug's rim was thrust against Tal's lips. Someone else jerked black hair from behind, harshly pulling until the earl's face tilted upward. Tal gasped and a portion of the liquid gushed into his mouth. He sputtered, but swallowed a small measure, too—a sight which earned a barrage of boisterous laughter.