Rhuddlan (25 page)

“Of course not! It’s only that…well, to tell
you the truth, I didn’t know things were like that between you and
Lady Teleri.”

“Teleri! Ha!” Longsword exploded into
laughter. “I’ve not as much experience in these matters as you,
Richard, but I did think that in order for something to come out
from between a woman’s legs, something else must first go in.”

Delamere stared at him. “Then it’s not your
wife who’s pregnant?”

“Not unless it’s God’s own! No, Richard, not
Teleri. Remember the chit I said always seemed smarter than the
others? Always helpful? That’s her. Gladys, Teleri said her name
is. Some name, huh? Took me a day to learn how to say it properly.
I don’t know why she can’t have a decent Norman name. Gladys! It’s
worse than something English.”

Delamere’s head was spinning. “Will! Can you
shut up a minute? You’re giving me a headache!”

Some of the joy left Longsword’s face. “I
thought you’d be happy for me.”

“I am! I truly am! But I want to know a few
things. First, does Lady Teleri know about this?”

“Of course! She’s the one who told me.”

Delamere was astonished. How long had he been
gone this time, anyway? Almost two months? Damn! What was going on
when he wasn’t around? He lifted his cup automatically and drank
down the wine. He shoved the empty vessel towards Longsword.
“More.”

“Teleri came to see me a few days ago,”
Longsword explained, tipping the pitcher. “She was all in a huff,
demanding I get rid of the girl or I’ll be sorry. She thought I
knew already.” He handed Delamere the full cup. “How would I know?
Gladys never said anything. Even if she had I wouldn’t have
understood.”

“So how did your wife find out?”

Longsword shrugged. “Who knows? Perhaps she
guessed. Or perhaps Gladys told her. She isn’t very happy. When I
saw Gladys later that day, one of her cheeks was red from Teleri’s
hand. So I confronted Teleri and warned her against abusing Gladys
again. I told her that if anything happened to my baby, she’ll be
the one who pays.”

“You can’t hit your wife, Will. It’s against
Welsh law.”

“It’s not against Norman law.”

They stared at each other. Longsword’s
expression was utterly composed. With a resigned sigh, Delamere
dropped heavily into one of the chairs at the dais table and
surveyed the platter of cold roasted meat, thickly sliced
barley-bread and oblongs of cheese placed before him. There was a
shallow bowl of water nearby and he dipped his fingers into it and
dried them on the linen napkin underneath it. He took a piece of
bread and chewed on it thoughtfully.

“I’ll tell you one thing,” Longsword said,
sitting next to him in the high-backed, carved chair set directly
at the center of the table. “I’m a new man, Richard. When I was
talking to Teleri I made a comment about her being jealous of what
someone had that ought, by right, to be hers. After she’d stomped
off, I thought about that remark. Do you know that’s precisely the
way I felt about my half-brother? I was jealous of him!”

Delamere was so surprised to hear this
admission that he started choking on the bread he’d just swallowed.
“Were you?” he managed to croak out.

Longsword slapped his back. “Yes. Anyway,
I’ve decided not to allow petty jealousies of my brother or
meaningless arguments with my wife drag me down anymore. Becoming a
father puts everything into perspective, doesn’t it?”

“Oh, yes…Pass the wine over here, will
you?”

“I tell you, I can’t wait, Richard!”
Longsword said excitedly, sliding the jug across the table. “Who do
you think I should send him to for training? I could do it myself
but I’d rather my son not grow up in Wales. It’s too boring and the
king would never get to see him.”

Delamere poured himself a cup of wine and
drank it down in one long draught. “You’ve been thinking about this
a lot, haven’t you?” he asked, pressing a napkin to his lips.

“Of course! Who wouldn’t?”

“What if it’s a girl?”

Longsword looked puzzled. “What?”

“The baby. What if it’s a girl and not a
boy?”

“Don’t be ridiculous, Richard!” his friend
scoffed. “It’s practically a tradition for the first child in this
family to be a boy! My father has more sons than he has land for!”
But then his expression became disconcerted. He hadn’t considered
the possibility that Gladys might have a girl. “A girl. A
daughter…Well, I’m sure that could be very nice,” he said
uncertainly.

“Don’t worry! Daughters have their uses,
too!” Delamere laughed.

“Hmph!” Longsword’s tone was
disapproving. “I’m not sure I’d want to expose any daughter of mine
to young men who approve of
your
sorts of uses for women.”

Chapter 18

February, 1177

Hawarden Castle, Gwynedd

After leaving Stroud, Hugh and Roger of
Haworth had traveled to the march of Cheshire and ended up in the
earl’s castle at Hawarden. In actuality, Hawarden was in Wales, at
the extreme eastern edge of Gwynedd and the most northerly point of
Powys. It was also to the west of the River Dee, which meant it was
decidedly severed from England. Hugh didn’t know upon whom he had
an unconscious desire to turn his back: his king or his mother.

Hawarden had been in the possession of the
earls of Chester since Hugh’s great-grandfather’s wars against the
Welsh one hundred years earlier. Its most recent tenant had died
during the Rebellion, killed in the Bastard’s surprise attack on
Hugh’s convoy into Brittany. He had left no heir and Hugh had
always liked the area. The castle had been meant as a symbol of the
Norman presence, a martial structure, calculated to inspire fear in
the native population. It wasn’t a castle in the same sense as
Chester; it wasn’t a sprawling, thick-walled monster incorporating
a whole town. It was rather a simple motte and bailey fortress;
small and defensible. The motte was built on the flattened top of a
natural mound, a foothill of the Berwyns, and consisted of a
three-storey stone structure surrounded by a stout timbered
palisade and a steep ditch while the bailey below it, similarly
encircled, contained various servile endeavors including a forge,
barracks, stables and kitchens.

Roger of Haworth looked askance at it. This
was his first time at Hawarden and he wasn’t pleased with what he
saw. “My lord, you can’t live here!” he protested.

Hugh smiled at him. “Why not?”

“Well—just look at it! It’s not large enough
to suit an earl. And half the people don’t know a word of French or
English.”

“You’re right, of course,” Hugh said. “But it
doesn’t matter. Those are temporary conditions.”

It was his plan to dramatically enlarge
Hawarden, perhaps even to a size which would rival Chester. The
king had made it clear at the council meeting which had
precipitated Hugh’s release that his barons were not to build
castles without his express permission. But Hugh didn’t think Henry
would object to Hawarden—it was already built and it was in Wales,
not England.

But the best thing about Hawarden was that it
was only ten miles from Chester. Henry might have put down this
rebellion but everyone knew that the king’s sons were notoriously
unfaithful and Hugh was gambling on the very real possibility of
another uprising. There were disaffected barons still—Hugh was
wryly certain Ralph de Fougères would jump at yet another chance to
go against Henry—and if such an opportunity presented itself the
first thing Hugh would do would be to march on Chester and reclaim
it from the royal garrison.

Miles de Gournay remained in Chester at
Hugh’s behest. While the castle itself was in the king’s hands, its
revenues still belonged to the earl and Hugh preferred that the
steward oversee their collection, partly because he didn’t trust
Henry’s officials but mostly because he didn’t want de Gournay with
him. Ever since the interview with his mother, Hugh found it
difficult to think of de Gournay without irritation. He didn’t
doubt the man’s loyalty but he felt his disapproval, which was
worse because it was personal. Disapproval of Hugh’s choice of
sides in the war, disapproval of his relationship with Haworth but
especially disapproval of the way he’d treated Eleanor. He knew the
steward blamed him for his wife’s death for all the man’s constant
protestations that he himself had failed to keep an eye on her.

Although the season wasn’t generally
favorable to outdoor work, the earl knew from long experience that
doling out liberal amounts of money tended to persuade men to look
past their own comfort and that included toiling in disagreeable
weather. Since the local population was hardly plentiful, Hugh
recruited artisans and laborers from the area around Chester,
paying even for their families to join them. Haworth’s complaint
that only half the people in residence knew a word of French or
English was soon resolved.

Haworth still wasn’t convinced that Hawarden
was the best place for the earl but he was mollified. Hugh was in a
better mood. A kind of melancholy had come over him after the king
had passed judgment on him at Falaise. It had been partially
relieved after his meeting with his mother; Haworth had felt the
difference. But it was without a doubt the reconstruction of
Hawarden that was giving Hugh a reason to get up in the morning.
The earl was continually consulting with the master builder. He
could spend the day just watching the workers.

Roger of Haworth didn’t realize it but he
himself was a large part of the reason for Hugh’s recovery. It
wasn’t until they’d arrived at Stroud that Hugh realized how much
he’d come to rely on the stolid man. Since Bolsover’s death,
Haworth had been at his side. He’d shared Hugh’s confinement and
he’d seen to Hugh’s well-being during that hellish period between
Henry’s announcement regarding Chester and the meeting with the
dowager countess Maud. Although it was never acknowledged, it was
no secret to anyone at Hawarden that he and Hugh quite often slept
in the same bed. Hugh trusted him absolutely. He knew whereas
Bolsover had pursued him for the money, favors and recognition the
patronage of a rich and influential man could give him, Haworth did
it all from sheer love.

Such devotion, however, was at times stifling
because Hugh was not in love with Roger of Haworth. He had an
affection for him and felt a loyalty to him but these were emotions
born more out of gratitude for Haworth’s unconditional love than
out of any deep feeling for the man himself. Haworth was not of his
background; he had been raised up into the knightly class, even
against prevailing sentiment, at Hugh’s instigation. He wasn’t
clever or witty or particularly handsome, qualities Hugh found
attractive, and he had no desire to be Hugh’s equivalent in
anything. He existed only to serve the earl, an unequal
relationship that flattered the ego but frustrated the soul. But
Hugh had the sense of honor and fairness typical of most of his
peers and pounded into him from the first day he could remember and
he realized that he owed Haworth a great debt. So he was careful to
always ask his captain’s opinion and to show proper appreciation
for any service he was given and if he looked at other men, he did
it surreptitiously. Perhaps, he sometimes thought, it was just as
well that Bolsover was no longer around to dazzle and befuddle his
reason. He knew now he could live without Bolsover but he was not
so sure he could live without Haworth.

Chapter 19

February, 1177

Rhuddlan Castle, Gwynedd

Longsword was impatient. Richard Delamere
watched him, amazed. It was as if his friend was the only person to
ever await the arrival of a baby.

Much to Teleri’s indignation, Gladys had been
given her own chamber in the rambling keep and a girl to do her
bidding. Longsword visited her every day. Delamere wondered what
they could possibly be doing up there, alone, especially after
Longsword had confided to him with some embarrassment that he was
afraid to approach Gladys with lustful intent because he thought it
might harm the baby. Delamere’s arguments to the contrary couldn’t
change his opinion. Still, he always found the time to visit her.
Delamere was mystified. Neither one could speak the other’s
language; he had a vision of them simply sitting and staring at the
walls until the candles burned down.

Then a delegation of five Welshmen appeared
at the gate, seeking justice for the murder of the herdsman and the
assault on his daughter. They were from a commote to the northeast
of Rhuddlan called Llanlleyn. Four of them, older men with greying
beards and lined countenances, were advisers to the chief of the
commote, Maelgwn ap Madog, and the fifth was his son, Rhirid.

Longsword listened
expressionlessly to the most senior of the delegates as the latter
detailed the circumstances of the crimes and then demanded that the
three soldiers who had so viciously abused the hospitality offered
them pay the
galanas
, or fine, as the law stipulated.

He was curious about this fine, about the
idea that paying a bit of money was sufficient punishment for
murder and wondered what the amount was, but he didn’t ask. He was
more affronted at the presumptuous tone the man was using. He
demanded? Rather abruptly, Longsword told the delegation that he
would handle the miscreants himself.

“But the
galanas
,” protested one of the men
angrily, “The law—”

“The law to which you refer,” Longsword
coldly interrupted, “is Welsh law and it means nothing here. On
this land, we uphold Norman law.”

“Yet the crimes were committed in Llanlleyn,”
said the chief’s son in a low, taut voice. “Which is Welsh
land.”