Rhuddlan (44 page)

The hall was crowded with men when Eleanor
entered it and all of them seemed to be speaking at the same time.
She didn’t dare walk up to one and ask who had just arrived. She
scanned the throng for Alan d’Arques, but in vain.

She was about to retreat to Teleri’s chamber
no more enlightened than before when out of nowhere came a stream
of such loud shouting that it hushed the noise in the hall. Eleanor
recognized Longsword’s voice and guessed he was in his council
chamber. She couldn’t quite make out his words but he was obviously
angry.

One of the knights standing near her suddenly
raised his voice. “Two marks says he doesn’t let him in!”
Immediately the bet was taken up and the stakes were raised as men
clamored around him with their wagers. Eleanor was in danger of
being swept away by the surging tide and she quickly turned and
escaped back up the stair.

“Well?” Teleri demanded the moment Eleanor
appeared on the threshold. “Who is it? What’s all that shouting?
Why did everyone rush into the hall?”

“I don’t know who it is, my lady,” Eleanor
said breathlessly. “Only that he must be an enemy of Lord William.
The soldiers are gambling on whether or not Lord William will admit
him—”

“I asked you to find out what’s happening,
Gwalaes! I could have guessed this much by standing at my window!
Oh—” Teleri drew her breath in sharply. Her eyes bulged as she
looked at Eleanor. “It must be Rhirid ap Maelgwn who’s come!” she
said excitedly. “That would account for my husband’s reluctance to
greet him. Do you hear me, Gwalaes? It’s Rhirid!”

Eleanor was more cautious. “But you said the
messenger is a Norman, my lady.”

Teleri waved an impatient hand. “Perhaps I
saw wrong. Or perhaps he was simply dressed in the Norman fashion.
Who else could it be if not Rhirid? Who else would my husband
consider his enemy?”

Eleanor had no answer.

“I’m going down! I want to meet Rhirid at
last!”

“My lady, you can’t do that!” Eleanor said,
alarmed. “Lord William sounds extremely angry. You know the feud
between the two—”

“He is despicable, Gwalaes! He is like an
infant! A real man doesn’t let petty misunderstandings hamper his
judgment.”

Eleanor failed to see how a nearly fatal
arrow could be construed as a petty misunderstanding but said
nothing.

“You must come with me, Gwalaes,” Teleri
ordered.

“I don’t think—”

“You haven’t any need to think, Gwalaes.
Come!” Without a backward glance, she swept out of the chamber.
Reluctantly, Eleanor trailed after her.

With great self-assurance, Teleri moved
through the mass of people in the hall to the landing outside.
Apart from a handful of soldiers and several grooms, the ward was
empty. The gate was closed. There was no activity at all below; a
rare occurrence at Rhuddlan. It was as if everyone and everything
waited for Longsword’s decision.

“They must be on the other side of the gate,”
Teleri hissed over her shoulder to Eleanor. “I’ve never seen such a
display of poor manners, Gwalaes! This would never happen in the
prince’s court—it must be a Norman custom to let important guests
languish without. And what of the peace between my husband and
Maelgwn? If I were Rhirid, I would—”

But she didn’t have the chance to finish.
Ralph de Vire came out of the hall in such a rush that he nearly
knocked Teleri down. He paid no attention to either woman. Instead,
he shouted to the knights below to have the gate opened. The men in
the ward leaped into action at last; there were calls to the guards
in the tower and yells for the grooms to stand by. Several men ran
to the gate and heaved it back, the iron-reinforced wood creaking
in protest. There were indeed horsemen waiting on the other side
and the first few moments of their entrance were a confusing swirl
of rising road dust, jangling bridles, ringing spurs and tramping
hooves.

Teleri watched it all with a thrilled smile.
That one in the front, at the head of the line—that must be Rhirid,
she thought, leaning forward over the low wall to get a better
look. He wasn’t very much like she’d expected; he didn’t look like
a grim-countenanced avenger carrying a fiery sword…And like his
messenger, he was dressed as a Norman—

She frowned. No one in the assemblage
appeared to be Welsh. The riders were lined up in neat rows, wore
mail and carried long, tapered shields. Their heads were capped
with metal helmets that covered their foreheads and noses as well.
Their saddles were large and heavy; the horses upon which they sat
were large and heavy.

The man in the lead, the one she’d assumed
was Rhirid, stood with one other slightly apart from the rest. In
contrast to their companions, both were bareheaded and the first
man did not wear mail. The second was dark-haired, stocky and
scowling; his lips moved as if he was muttering something
disagreeable to the first one, the mail-less one, who was
russet-haired and wealthy. She could tell he was wealthy by the
fine accoutrements adorning his horse, the signet ring on his
finger which gleamed in the noon sun, the ornate clasp holding the
ends of his dark tunic together and by the calm, amused expression
creasing the pleasant features of his face.

He was grinning at her. She
half-turned her head and whispered to Eleanor, “That’s
not
Rhirid ap Maelgwn!
That man is a Norman!”

Roger of Haworth, protective of Hugh’s
dignity, muttered angrily. “This is intolerable, my lord! Where is
he?”

“Probably watching us from some window
above.” Hugh sounded unconcerned. “Probably gauging how much time
may be permitted to elapse before his continued absence is
perceived an insult.”

“It
is
an insult! He should have been down
here, waiting to greet you, before you even entered his damned
castle!”

The earl glanced at his captain with
amusement. “The Bastard obviously doesn’t care as fervently as you
do for custom, Roger. Only a man who feels he’s strong enough in
his own right will defy convention.”

“Whatever strength he has comes from the
king,” Haworth spat out. “He holds nothing in his own right, my
lord.”

“Yes, of course,” Hugh agreed. He shrugged.
“Well, he can’t leave us here forever.”

They had spent several weeks as guests at the
court of Prince Dafydd, after which Hugh had decided they would
visit Rhuddlan before returning to Hawarden. His interest had been
piqued by conversations with the prince, during one of which he’d
learned that some of the men Dafydd had sent him to use against
Powys were from a small commote called Llanlleyn and had been
responsible for recent trouble in the area, including an almost
fatal ambush on the Bastard himself. It was to be hoped, Dafydd had
told him wryly, that the instigators of the ambush would find
better occupation for their swords in northern Powys than closer to
home. And spare him, Hugh had added to himself, the necessity of
informing King Henry that his bastard son had been killed in some
petty altercation.

No, a few days at Rhuddlan wouldn’t come
amiss, Hugh decided. He was familiar with the fortress, of course;
it had been in his family from the Conquest until that fateful day
when Owain Gwynedd had sacked it and reduced it to rubble. He was
curious to discover how the Bastard, who’d always had the
reputation of being the most loyal son to his father, had settled
into a pedestrian life. This dispute with Llanlleyn—was it indeed a
petty matter or was the Bastard so bored that he had tried to
create some excitement?

When Haworth objected, Hugh gave him an
explanation designed to appeal to his masculine pride: “How would
it look, Roger,” he said reasonably, “if the Bastard were to learn
that we had been in his neighborhood but hadn’t come calling? He
would think we’re too humiliated to see him! Do you really want him
to think we’re cowards?”

Needless to say, Haworth bristled at the very
idea and made no further argument.

Convincing Haworth was the least of his
problem, Hugh thought. He wondered if the Bastard would even
receive him. Basic etiquette demanded as much but being the son of
the king was a position not without its perks and it was well known
that William fitz Henry cared for no one’s opinion but his
father’s.

So he sent his messenger ahead when he and
his party were just a few miles from the fortress, reasoning it was
more difficult to turn away people who were right there on the
doorstep than those half a day’s ride away, whose faces were
unseen. And, after a short hesitation, the ploy seemed to work. The
impressively massive gate was opened to admit him and his men.

“He’s either forgiven us or is starved for
company,” Hugh murmured to Haworth as they rode through to the
ward.

But the hospitality ended abruptly. Hugh,
Haworth and their twenty soldier-strong entourage were left
standing alone and feeling slightly foolish. Grooms loitered nearby
but didn’t rush up to take their horses; no one came out of the
keep to welcome them. Haworth became annoyed and after listening to
his complaints for several minutes, Hugh began to wonder if it had
been a good idea to come to Rhuddlan after all.

He looked up at the keep again. A small knot
of people stood looking down at him. One was a petite,
finely-featured woman. Her eyes were all over him and he smiled at
her. She turned her head slightly, as if to speak to someone
standing behind her, and then he saw her whole body whirl around
and after a moment’s hesitation, disappear quickly inside.

And finally, he saw the Bastard appear on the
landing.

“Teleri!”

She jumped involuntarily at the unexpected
voice and swung around. Longsword stood in the doorway, glaring at
her. Richard Delamere and several other men were behind him but
Gwalaes had disappeared. “Get inside!” he ordered. When she
hesitated, he gestured impatiently to one of the knights, who
pushed past him and reached his hand out for her arm. She jerked
away.

“I’ll go myself!” she snapped.

She walked back into the hall with as much
dignity as she could muster, humiliated by his disrespectful
address. Her women hurried up to her, clucking and fussing until
she told them to let her be; they gathered on either side of her,
almost possessively, and when she started towards the stair at the
rear of the hall it was as if one giant mass were moving across the
wooden floor.

Gwalaes was standing in the shadows by the
pantry. “It isn’t Rhirid after all,” Teleri informed her, pausing.
“Only another Norman. Gwynedd seems to be full of them these
days…Gwalaes, you look like you’ve seen a ghost.”

“It’s the confusion, my lady,” Eleanor
stammered. “I’m not used to all this noise and activity. The abbey
is so quiet.”

“I can imagine,” Teleri sniffed unfavorably.
“Well—I’m certain my beloved husband is not planning to present the
mysterious visitor to me, so I will retire. Too bad; from a
distance, anyway, the man has quite a pleasant appearance.”

Eleanor could not prevent a shudder of
revulsion. Teleri noticed it, and thought it an unusually strong
reaction. “You disagree? You saw him, then?” she asked.

“I saw them all, my lady,” Eleanor said. Her
voice trembled despite her attempt to keep it level. She knew she
had to be careful in what she said before Teleri but it was
difficult to repress her shock in seeing Hugh again and at the same
time watch her words. “All these soldiers in one place—it frightens
me.”

“Indeed?” Teleri said, turning toward the
stair. “It sickens me.”

When the Welshwoman had gone, Eleanor gave in
to the trembling that had threatened to consume her the instant
she’d set eyes on her husband as he waited in the ward. Her head
spun dizzily. Never had she expected to see him at Rhuddlan
Castle—never had she expected to see him again!

She had recognized him in one glance and had
immediately retreated into the shelter of the hall. But there had
been time enough to see that Roger of Haworth was still by his
side. The man who had murdered Gwalaes…The sight of the two of them
made her stomach heave in revolt.

She hovered near the pantry, uncertain of her
next move. She thought she ought to do something—speak to
Longsword, confront them herself—but the idea made her shake so
violently she didn’t think she’d be able to speak clearly.

In the end, she just slipped down the steps
behind the pantry, down to the groundlevel entrance to the keep
through the storerooms and across the yard to the kitchens. She had
to find Bronwen and keep her away from the earl and his men; given
her daughter’s penchant for ogling the fine-looking Norman
stallions, she knew the little girl would not be hard to locate.
Bronwen was the most important consideration, she realized, in the
whole horrifying shambles of her relationship with her husband. She
felt relief at finally making a decision. Bronwen—and her own new
identity and the way of life she had cultivated over the last four
years—had to be protected at any price.

Surely Gwalaes would have understood…

Chapter 31

April, 1177

Rhuddlan Castle, Gwynedd

Longsword’s mood was blacker than even
Richard Delamere had ever seen it. He had needed an enormous amount
of persuading to receive Chester and when he’d finally, reluctantly
assented, had behaved churlishly, responding impolitely to the
earl’s little speech of thanks for welcoming him and his men to
Rhuddlan, and asking the earl straight out how long a visit he was
planning.

As they’d argued with each other in the
council chamber, Delamere had seen his friend’s insecurities and
delusions of persecution resurface after half a year of blessed
quiet. Longsword was convinced Chester had come to gloat at him
because after all his efforts on behalf of his father, his reward
was nothing greater than the governership of Rhuddlan, while the
treacherous earl’s only penalty had been a few years’ worth of
comfortable confinement and the seizure of one of his castles.
Chester was still the wealthiest peer in the realm; all his lands
and revenues remained untouched. They’d had him at Dol, they’d
taken his wagons full of treasure and his oxen and had precipitated
the surrender of the fortress and his capture but it hadn’t
mattered at all because he still had wealth beyond imagining while
Longsword was lucky if his lazy Welsh villeins could provide him
with enough fish from the nearby sea to get Rhuddlan through Lent.
Chester was fortunate to have escaped Normandy with his life; he
could go anywhere he wanted to go—except Chester Castle, Delamere
had put in, but Longsword was too busy shouting to listen—but the
king’s bastard was stuck in this insignificant heap of stone in the
middle of a watery plain where nothing ever happened. And Longsword
had wanted to snub him and not admit him because if a man in the
earl’s position hadn’t come to gloat, then that man was an
idiot.