Rhuddlan (13 page)

“Recently?”

“No, my lady. I’ve held it for some time, in
case its owner came by to claim it. I would have given it up at
once! But she didn’t come and I truly believed it had meant nothing
to her and that I might give it to another with an easy mind.” He
glanced at the girl standing just behind his shoulder and added, “I
know I should have handed it over to the captain, my lady, but I
thought whoever had lost it would retrace her steps—”

“I don’t care about that,” Eleanor
interrupted him. “I only care about who lost it.”

“That I don’t know, my lady.”

He said it too readily. Eleanor stared at
him, her eyebrows knit together, until he flushed and looked away.
She believed him when he said he didn’t know—he didn’t want to
know! Obviously, she thought, he had found this object of some
small value and had wanted to keep it for himself. He’d made no
effort to find its owner; just waited until he considered
sufficient time had passed and he could assume no one was coming
for it.

Something else he’d said suddenly struck her.
“You found the pin by the postern gate?” she asked, frowning.

“Yes, my lady. A month or so ago.”

“But surely the messengers from the Young
King left by the main gate?”

Genuine confusion spread across his face. “My
lady?”

“I know to whom this pin belongs,” Eleanor
told him. “And I know she never went beyond the gates of this
castle unless I was with her…until she left with the Young King’s
messengers.”

“No, that’s impossible,” the guard said,
shaking his head.

“What do you mean?”

“No one left with the messengers, my lady. I
watched them go. I’d just come off duty, you see, when their horses
were brought out from the stable. I spoke with one of the grooms as
I walked with him across the ward to the gate where the men were
waiting. The porter came out, unlocked the gate and they mounted
the beasts and left. There wasn’t anyone with them.”

Eleanor’s heart started racing again, loud
thumps that almost deafened her. “Perhaps she went out the postern
and met the messengers in the town.”

Again the young man shook his head. “No, my
lady. I found the pin before the messengers left. I would have been
the one to open the gate for her and that night I opened it for
only one person.”

Her mouth was dry. “Who?” When he hesitated,
she demanded again in an angry voice. “Who was it?”

“Sir Roger,” he answered quickly. “Of the
earl’s bodyguard.”

“Sir Roger?”

The guard was suddenly flustered. “I could
have given the pin to him,” he said in a rush. “But I didn’t think
it was very important. It’s not an expensive piece, after all, and
no one claimed it. I wasn’t stealing it, my lady! I would have
given it up if it had been asked for. Please believe me—”

“Why would you have given the pin to Sir
Roger?”

“Because, my lady, Sir Roger knew who the pin
belonged to.”

That might be true, she thought; if Haworth
were a particularly observant person he would have seen the pin on
Gwalaes almost every day. But how would the guard know that? She
looked at him questioningly, not daring to speak.

He shifted uneasily. “She was with him,
wasn’t she, my lady. On the one horse. Going down to the river, he
told me.”

Eleanor was stunned. “What? She was with him?
How? Why?”

“She was, um, sitting on his lap,” the guard
said with some embarrassment. “As for the why…” He lifted his
eyebrows in an expression which implied the answer was
apparent.

Eleanor ignored the gesture. “Could you see
her at all? Did she say anything? Was she old or young? What did
she look like?”

He realized the countess wasn’t interested in
his ill-advised guardianship of the pin, only in the person to whom
it had belonged. He had feared she would tell the earl that one of
his men was a thief but it seemed thievery was least of her
concerns. He became immediately helpful.

“I didn’t see her face, my lady. She was
sitting on Sir Roger’s lap with her back to me and her legs on the
other side of the saddle. She didn’t say anything. Sir Roger said
she was shy. He said they were going to the river and he winked at
me.” He shrugged. “I opened the gate for them and they went
through. Then I saw the pin on the ground. It must have fallen from
the woman’s gown because it wasn’t there before.”

“Are you certain?”

“Yes, my lady. I would have seen it. The moon
was up. I’d been walking around a bit; I can’t stand still all
night. It was almost as bright as day that night. I would have seen
it before. I picked it up and was about to call after them but
they’d disappeared into the shadows already. I didn’t want to
embarrass the woman; she never once looked at me and I figured she
didn’t want to be seen. I thought I’d just give the pin to Sir
Roger when they came back. But they never did come back and well, I
just kept it.”

Eleanor sat silently for a moment, digesting
the story. What was Gwalaes doing with Sir Roger? Certainly not
what the guard was implying! Had Sir Roger taken her outside the
castle and arranged for the messengers to pick her up along the
road? But why? Why not simply leave from the ward, through the main
gate? Hugh was all too eager to be rid of her; he’d hated Gwalaes
as much as Gwalaes had hated him and Eleanor knew it. He wouldn’t
care that she’d gone.

If Gwalaes hadn’t joined the two messengers,
then only one explanation remained. Eleanor’s feet felt suddenly
icy; she shivered in small tremors.

She didn’t want to believe the worst, but why
not? These were violent men, trained all their lives for one
purpose: killing. Would they shirk to commit murder against one
lowly, troublesome servant whom no one but the out of favor
countess held in any regard?

The servant and the guard exchanged puzzled
glances. Eleanor was staring at them, her face white and frozen.
“My lady,” said the girl timidly, coming up to stand before her,
“you must believe we didn’t think we were stealing the pin—only
keeping that which had been lost. But if you know who the pin
belongs to, we’ll gladly give it back with apologies for keeping it
so long.”

Eleanor’s eyes focused. “It doesn’t matter,”
she said. “It doesn’t matter.” She shook herself. Above all, she
thought, no one must suspect she knew. She crossed the chamber to
the little casket of her personal effects which stood on the table
against the far wall. She opened it, rummaged and took out a red
hair ribbon, its ends decoratively wrapped in crisscrossed silver
wire. She held it out to the servant. “I would like to keep the
pin. Will you take this in exchange?” As the girl reached for it,
her face pleased, Eleanor’s voice turned cold. “This conversation
goes no further than these walls, understand? I don’t want to hear
even the smallest whisper.”

When they’d gone, Eleanor stood in front of
the window and looked out. Mass had ended, she noted by the sudden
appearance of the pious multitude in the ward. The November sky was
dark and forbidding but she was strangely glad of it. It suited her
mood. She felt angry and a little guilty. Angry that they had dared
to commit such a heinous act. Guilty because if she and Gwalaes
hadn’t argued, then Hugh and Haworth wouldn’t have had the
opportunity to separate them.

If
they hadn’t argued,
if
she could have seen Gwalaes one last time,
if
the guard had never
found the pin…
If
Hugh could kill Gwalaes, he could kill her,
if
the child were
stillborn, he would blame her,
if
the child were a girl, he would demonstrate his
displeasure with his fists…

And despite the pain of having learned the
horrible truth about Gwalaes’ disappearance, Eleanor felt
incredibly relieved that she hadn’t been betrayed after all,
although she hated Hugh with renewed vigor for trying to make her
think she had. She’d been selfish for thinking only of herself
while Gwalaes was being murdered. She could no longer afford to be
so selfish; she was pregnant and now she had to put the child
first. And she was damned if she would let Hugh have any control
over the life of their child. It was time, she told herself grimly,
to stop languishing and start thinking.

She leaned on the sill and stared through the
window to the west. The plain of Chester, bounded by a loop of the
river, looked neat and civilized compared with the hazy, haphazard
hills in the distance. But appearances, she knew, were deceiving.
Wales was over there. She didn’t know much about Wales, but of one
thing she was certain: Hugh would need an army to get her out.

Chapter 9

November, 1172

Chester Castle, England

One morning, Eleanor left her chamber
accompanied by two of her ladies who, she was now convinced, had
been charged by the earl to keep a sharp eye on her. Did they know
what had been done to Gwalaes, she wondered. Did everyone at
Chester know and she had been the only one in the dark?

She felt simultaneously composed and nervous.
She was at ease with her decision but the successful execution of
it was a variable over which she had only partial control. While
she could swear her intention was written clearly on her face for
everyone to read, she knew in reality that it was the least likely
action anyone could suppose she would take.

Sir Miles was alone in the council room. She
left the two women at the door, telling them she wished a private
meeting with the steward and they acquiesced without a murmur;
there was nothing suspicious about it. She glanced curiously around
as she walked into the chamber; she had never before been in it. It
was decidedly masculine—a minimum of furniture, undecorated walls,
poor lighting, cold in temperature and untidy. At one end was a
long table scattered with papers and pens and pots of ink; Sir
Miles had told her once that in his spare time he was writing a
history of the earls of Chester. A bitter smile twisted her lips as
she wondered if he would include the less than noble habits of the
current earl. That he was well aware of these habits was obvious.
She could tell by the way he couldn’t look her in the face.

And he was too friendly and too obsequious,
begging her to sit down in his own chair and asking if he should
have wine brought in. She despised him for that, even though it
meant his embarrassment and sympathy for what she endured under
Hugh were genuine. She supposed he could have been patronizing or
high-handed…She knew from personal experience in her father’s house
that that was the way people with no status were treated.

She didn’t want to arouse the slightest
suspicion, so she spoke in a quiet, humble voice and hardly dared
to lift her head further than his kindly gaze. Once he understood
that she hadn’t come to beg help from him or to make some kind of
scene, he was like a benevolent uncle; he desired to know what
service he might do for her.

“Sir Miles,” she said, staring down at her
tightly clutched hands, “I’m sure you know of my husband’s fervent
wish for an heir. It’s a deep disappointment to me that so far I’ve
not been able to perform my duty to him as his wife and produce at
least one. I’ve taken it in my mind to go to the church of St. John
the Baptist and beseech God’s pity.”

He beamed. “I think that’s a fine idea,
Countess! It will help to relieve your anxiety. And how could God
refuse the entreaties of such a lovely petitioner as yourself? But
are you quite certain you want to travel across the city in this
cold? Won’t the chapel suffice? God will hear you just as well in
there.”

She hadn’t expected opposition. Had Hugh left
orders that she was not to leave the castle? But the steward’s tone
was concerned, not mistrustful. “Of course, I’ll do what you think
is best, Sir Miles,” she said immediately. “But the weather doesn’t
bother me and I have a special reason for wanting to visit St.
John’s…it was, after all, where the earl and I were married.”

“I see…No, no, I don’t object. If you want to
go there, you shall go there,” he pronounced. “I’ll have an escort
readied for you whenever you want it.”

“Thank you, Sir Miles,” she said and gave him
a small smile. On the other side of the door, it died instantly.
Her cheeks ached from the effort. How contemptible she found him!
It was quite plain he was relieved she had apparently decided not
to fight against her troubled circumstances. She hoped that when
she was discovered missing, Hugh would blame him for it.

When she left Chester Castle, she took only
the clothes on her back, a leather bag containing leftover bread
and Gwalaes’ pin. She passed under the gate on horseback, preceded
and followed by a pair of guards and she didn’t look back.

PART II

Chapter 10

August, 1173

near Verneuil, Normandy

The afternoon was hot and dry, and Alan
d’Arques found them cooling off in the shallow waters of a nearby
stream overhung with willows and chattering sparrows. He wheeled
his horse about and called out excitedly, “The king is marching!
Hurry!”

After a moment’s surprised hesitation,
William Longsword and Richard Delamere scrambled up and onto the
bank grabbing hose, tunics and boots along the way and forcing wet
limbs into them as Alan, who’d dismounted, held out their mail and
swordbelts. A jay screamed shrilly and flapped off, its peaceful
afternoon marred by the sudden activity. The men thrust their heavy
swords into the belts and then they were racing away, leaving puffs
of dust in their wake.

Longsword was soon galloping far ahead of his
two companions, his eagerness aided by a swifter horse. Delamere
and Alan rode abreast. With the wind rushing by their ears and the
thundering of the horses’ hooves, Delamere had to shout to be heard
when he asked Alan what had suddenly spurred the king’s action. The
march had been halted less than an hour before, for a quick meal
and to spare the men and horses the worst of the midday sun.