Rhuddlan (55 page)

“I know you and your animal murdered Gwalaes,
my lord. I suspected I was next.”

“You’re more clever than I thought,” he
said.

“Circumstance made me so,” she retorted.

They stared at each other for a moment, not
moving a muscle. Hugh was astonished at the transformation four
years had wrought on her character. Not once in all their time at
Chester had Eleanor displayed the slightest inclination towards
assertiveness and now she was having an argument with him. Had the
Bastard done this? It was a more fitting revenge than Longsword
could ever know because Hugh’s ardor for Eleanor was only ignited
by seeing her terrified submission.

She broke the silence, startling him from his
thoughts. “Will you at least tell me how she is?” she asked
calmly.

He shook his head. “I can’t. I don’t know how
she is. But I’m certain my mother will send a messenger here soon
enough…”

Eleanor seemed to turn even paler. “Where is
she?”

“The men who rode with Roger to fetch her
have taken her to Stroud. My mother lives there. I think she’ll be
pleased to have her granddaughter with her.” He gave a little
laugh. “Especially if the girl’s as quiet as Roger said she was.
Solemn. Once she’d stopped screaming, after they’d got her away
from that wretched manor, he said she never uttered another sound.
Didn’t even cry.”

“You never even saw her, did you?” she said
slowly. “You’re truly despicable, my lord! Your own flesh and
blood—haven’t you the slightest curiosity about her?”

He looked uncomfortable. “There was no
time…”

He turned away, pretending
to seek out his wine cup, but he could feel her eyes boring into
the back of his head. It had all gone wrong, he thought; this
interview was supposed to have been
his
triumph, not hers. It was supposed
to have ended with her tears, her pleas for his mercy…perhaps her
rape.

“My only consolation,” she said in a level
voice, “is that Bronwen was spared the sight of the monster who
fathered her.”

When he woke up the next day, his head was
pounding. The chamber was in semi-darkness but he could see the
shape of a man sitting on the end of his bed. “Roger? Is that you?”
he asked groggily.

Haworth finished lacing his last boot. He
stood up and walked towards Hugh. “You slept like the dead, my
lord,” he whispered in deference to the morning hush. “I came up
last night but you never stirred. How did it go with Lady
Eleanor?”

Hugh closed his eyes again
and leaned back into his pillow. He was too ashamed to admit the
truth. “Well enough, I suppose. She’s changed, Roger…Do you know,
if I didn’t know the look of her, I would say this is not the same
person. This one is…
harder
. She called me a monster for
not having seen my daughter.”

“I hope you put her in her place, my lord!”
Haworth said, bristling.

“Of course,” Hugh lied. He was silent as he
remembered the conversation with Eleanor. He opened his eyes and
pushed himself into a sitting position. “Anyway, I came to a
decision last night. Gruffudd ap Madog’s been quiet for a few
weeks. I believe we made our point. He knows now that if he invades
my land, he has to face not only my knights but the prince’s
soldiers as well and he’ll think twice before he does it again. I’m
going to send Dafydd’s men home.”

Haworth looked confused by the abrupt change
of subject but his expression cleared quickly. “My lord, no! What
about your plan for Powys? You said we would wait long enough to
persuade Gruffudd we weren’t pressing our advantage and then we’d
launch our own invasion! We can’t do it without the extra
manpower!”

“That plan will have to wait,” Hugh said.

Haworth’s voice was outraged. “Why?”

“Because I have a more pressing concern,
Roger! I told you at Rhuddlan that if the Bastard had anything to
do with keeping my wife from me, I would have revenge and so I
will. But obviously I can’t act overtly; I don’t think Henry would
understand, do you? However, the man who shot the Bastard—what’s
his name?”

“Rhirid ap Maelgwn,” Haworth answered
unhappily.

Hugh nodded. “That’s him. I know he’s got his
own grievance against the Bastard. With a little encouragement, I
think he can be convinced to go after him again. And with my money
and weapons, perhaps this time he’ll do a better job.” Despite the
murky light, he could see Haworth’s frown. “What’s wrong?” he asked
impatiently.

“But you’ve got Lady Eleanor back! It was
revenge enough against the Bastard—he was begging her to stay! He
was prepared to fight you for her! You’ve had revenge, my lord;
let’s turn our attention south now. With the prince’s men we’ll
have less trouble penetrating Gruffudd’s defenses. We can’t do it
alone…”

Hugh shoved back the sheets and got out of
bed with an angry oath. “I don’t understand you, Roger! I thought
you hated the Bastard as much as I do! I thought you hated the
presence of so many Welsh soldiers at Hawarden! Suddenly, you want
to forget the insult the Bastard has done me—not only here but at
Dol, I may remind you!—and you want the Welsh to stay even
longer!”

“Everything you say is true, my lord. But we
shouldn’t pass up the opportunity to increase your holdings just
because of this feud with Longsword. Who knows when we’ll have
another chance at it!”

Hugh was furious. What was happening? Haworth
was disagreeing with him? Giving him advice? The man stood there,
only a pace or two away from his face, staring calmly into his
eyes, infuriatingly composed but for his strong, urgent tone. Hugh
felt his self-control start to slip as his anger rose to the
surface. He was used to being obeyed without question, particularly
by Haworth, and although one small rational part of his mind was
telling him that to take his man’s advice would be the only way to
finally escape the past he’d felt creeping up on him again, it
could not hold out against the stubborn remainder which was telling
him that he was lord and master.

But he never had to speak. Roger of Haworth
knew the earl too well. His new confidence faltered. “Of course
I’ll do whatever you command, my lord,” he said in a low voice.

Hugh stared at him a moment longer. He nodded
slowly. “Good,” he answered shortly. “Because I’ve made up my mind
to have the Bastard’s head on a platter, Roger, and I will get it
with you or without you.”

Chapter 35

May, 1177

Rhuddlan Castle, Gwynedd, Wales

The mood in the castle was tense and uneasy.
The departure of the healer, rumored to have actually been a Norman
noblewoman, had affected the lord to a troubling degree and no one
knew what to do about it. Longsword brooded constantly, rarely
spoke and flew off the handle at the slightest incident. The
servants worked in silence, his men avoided him and even Teleri
remained shut in her chambers, apparently unwilling to cross his
path lest she finally lose one of their battles.

Everyone breathed easier when Richard
Delamere returned from his manor. It was the general consensus that
if there were one person in the world who could talk to Longsword,
that person was Richard Delamere. But Delamere himself could have
told them all that this time he was as much on the outside as they
were. He knew his friend still blamed him for concealing Gwalaes’
true identity.

But Delamere had his own
problems. He and Olwen had hardly exchanged a friendly word during
his recent stay, unless it pertained to the boys. Instead, their
mostly frosty conversation centered around his proposal to build a
wall around the perimeter of the manor house. Olwen’s response was
lukewarm. Despite the unpleasant shock of Haworth’s invasion, she
didn’t seem to appreciate the idea as he had expected. She had
asked him what the purpose of it was if there wasn’t anyone in the
manor to defend it. Meaning, he supposed,
him
. And then it had hit him all of a
sudden—the reason for her withdrawal, the reason for her
frustrating silence: she was angry that he didn’t stay at the manor
but returned to Rhuddlan. He was relieved it was something so
simple—he had begun to think she was no longer interested in
him—but annoyed as well, because she apparently didn’t understand
that he had a responsibility to Longsword.

He returned to Rhuddlan after an absence of
less than a week, when the tension between him and Olwen grew
unbearable. He was angry that she wouldn’t take the idea of the
wall seriously; obviously, he told her, she felt she was capable of
managing quite well on her own. But the larger part of the reason
he left was something he couldn’t now admit to Olwen: Longsword.
Delamere was worried about him. He had never before seen Longsword
so touched by another person, including the king, and he wondered
if he might not try something crazy, like chasing after
Chester.

He’d breathed an inward sigh of relief that
Longsword hadn’t yet managed to get himself into trouble but after
two days of trying to coax something more than single syllables out
of his friend, he almost wished he’d had. He wasn’t familiar with
this Longsword, who was quiet and cold, whose eyes seemed
permanently stained with black, who would stride off to the stables
without warning, leaving his men to scramble after him, and go on
murderous hunts through the countryside; this wasn’t Longsword’s
typical manner and after nearly a lifetime of friendship, Delamere
was suddenly powerless to influence him.

And then, like the hot, steaming weather
they’d endured on the plain before Dol during the war, the tense
situation broke. A large man, heavily mustached in the style some
Welsh preferred, appeared at the gate of Rhuddlan Castle,
bareheaded, dressed in worn clothing and, as far as the guards
could tell, weaponless. He was riding, not very expertly, a
plodding field horse, which he addressed in bursts of impatient
language. The guards grinned at each other. A free man, perhaps
from the iron ore mines or a fisherman, with some imagined crisis
to report. Sure enough, when the man saw he had their attention, he
started calling out to them in a frantic tone. Really, they
thought, the Welsh were inveterate complainers.

The urgent language did not abate once the
man was inside the fortress. He slid clumsily from the patient
horse and it wasn’t long before his wild harangue and
gesticulations had attracted a small group of soldiers who watched
his performance with various degrees of amusement and laid bets on
what his message might be. Guy Lene was summoned; his command of
Welsh was limited but he thought something had been attacked and
the mood of the guards quickly sobered and it was decided Longsword
should be consulted.

Longsword was located in the hall but his
presence wasn’t enough to suddenly enable the Welshman to speak
French. The stranger raised his voice in an effort to make the
Normans understand Welsh but this ploy also failed. Lene was
dispatched to fetch Richard Delamere, whom he found polishing his
sword in the otherwise empty barracks where he’d gone to puzzle out
both Longsword’s and Olwen’s strange behavior in solitude.

Delamere’s serious expression darkened when
he heard the message. He turned towards Longsword and the others.
“He says the abbey’s under attack by Rhirid ap Maelgwn.”

“He’s back?” Longsword asked.

“Apparently so. The man says he recognized
Rhirid from his last visit to the abbey.”

They should have expected it, Delamere
thought; obviously Prince Dafydd had released Rhirid after hearing
the report of Maelgwn’s untimely death.

The effect of the news on Longsword was
immediate. He seemed to expand in all directions, as if knowing
that he was vitally needed had filled him with a self-confidence
that was physical. Once more he was the calm and efficient leader
he had shown himself to be at Dol. He ordered his men organized and
prepared to ride out within the hour. He gave instructions for his
hauberk, coif and helmet and heavy boots to be brought to him in
the hall. He chose Ralph de Vire to stay behind with a handful of
men. Delamere was absurdly pleased to see the abrupt transformation
in his friend’s mood. At long last, Longsword would have his
revenge against Rhirid ap Maelgwn. The peace with Llanlleyn was
broken.

Teleri had known about the attack on the
abbey before her husband because the messenger of these dire
tidings had awakened her with his loud shouting below her window.
She’d watched the subsequent, frantic activity in the ward with
barely a flicker of interest; even the realization that Longsword
was finally going to meet Rhirid in violent confrontation didn’t
excite her as it once would have done. And when the last
man-at-arms had trotted through the gates, Rhuddlan’s ensuing
silence had seemed as forlorn and hollow as her entire being.

She didn’t care about anything anymore and
she didn’t feel like fighting anymore. Gladys was gone and Gwalaes
was gone but she was still there and nothing had changed. The earl
of Chester had gone as well, leaving her feeling slightly hurt that
he’d turned out to be married and more than a little mortified that
he was rumored to prefer men to women anyway. And she was still
there. Forgotten by her uncle, hated by her husband and even
abandoned by Rhirid ap Maelgwn, whom she’d irrationally counted on
to rescue her from the nightmare she was living.

In the weeks since Gwalaes’ abrupt departure,
Teleri’s appetite had decreased to the point at which her women had
to cajole, often tearfully, several bites of selected meals into
her mouth. Always petite, she had lost enough weight to alarm those
who saw her. She took no interest in her appearance, her hair had
lost its rich sheen and splashing water now and then on her face
sufficed as far as bathing was concerned. The weather outside her
windows was mild but more often than not, she insisted on keeping
the shutters closed. Her rooms became as gloomy as her mood.