Rhuddlan (63 page)

It was after midday when she started to think
that perhaps something was wrong. The one thing she did know—that
the Perfeddwlad lay to the west of both Llanlleyn and
Rhuddlan—seemed out of line with the direction in which they were
traveling. She wondered if the man had been so eager to leave
Llanlleyn that he’d exaggerated his familiarity with the way…

“I don’t think this is right,” she said to
him.

He didn’t turn his head. “What? I can’t hear
you.”

“I said, I don’t think this is the right way
to go,” she repeated, with more force.

To her disgust, he began coughing. The fit
lasted quite a long time and she cringed behind him, praying no
flecks of spittle flew back into her face. Finally, it ended—with a
large splat onto the gound.

“Didn’t you hear me?” she demanded, when it
appeared he would not speak. “I just told you this isn’t the right
way!”

He twisted his head around. “Of course it is.
We’ll be there in no time. Just sit tight.”

But there was a strange, nagging voice in the
back of her mind which insisted he was wrong. In fact, the whole
situation suddenly felt wrong. Her previous suspicions multiplied.
She began to imagine that Goewyn, Olwen and this man had concocted
a plot to lead her in a circle back to Llanlleyn, for a laugh. The
people of Llanlleyn didn’t like her; this was a plot to humiliate
her for their amusement…

She dismissed the idea; it was a lot of
trouble for one laugh and, after all, there was the very real
possibility that she might truly seek to escape.

Well, she thought…if not to the Perfeddwlad
and if not back to Llanlleyn, then there was only one other
destination and that was Rhuddlan. Despite her insistence to the
contrary, Goewyn had betrayed her and had directed the man to
return her to Longsword. Teleri was enraged. To see her husband
again under such circumstances would be the worse humiliation.

She made a sudden decision. Her legs were
relatively unencumbered because the skirt of her gown was hiked up
to her knees so that she could sit astride. And the horse’s dull
plod made it a simple matter to put her left leg across its rump,
let go of the guide’s tunic and slide to the ground with only a
slight jar.

“What are you doing?” the man demanded,
immediately jerking back on the reins and bringing the horse to a
stop.

“I told that woman I was not going back to
Rhuddlan and I meant it!” Teleri retorted. “I’ll find my own way to
my uncle and I don’t mind telling you that he’ll be extremely angry
to learn what happened here!”

“Lady, please! I’m not taking you to
Rhuddlan! If this path looks unfamiliar to you, it’s only because
it’s a seldom used route. I figured we had less of a chance of
running into Lord Rhirid or Lord William if we went this way.”

She hesitated only briefly. She didn’t trust
this man; there was a prickling at the back of her neck which even
made her fear him. She put one hand down to her dagger and felt
somewhat calmer. She began to back away from him slowly but
steadily, her eyes locked on his, her heart beating furiously. She
did not reply.

As she watched, his face changed expression
and she knew then she was right to be apprehensive. The
dull-witted, wheedling look vanished and was replaced with
desperate determination. When he dismounted, she whirled around and
started running.

She had never been so frightened in her life.
She imagined the man would kill her if he caught her. But she
didn’t know how to evade him. All she could do was flee down the
same path they’d just traveled up: a narrow, worn trail barely
large enough for a cart. Outstretched branches caught at her
billowing cloak and skirt and slowed her pace; the shawl over her
head slipped further down and blinded her momentarily until she
could push it up past her eyes. She ran without thinking, without a
plan. She could hear the man’s rushing footfalls behind her, the
sound growing louder and louder; she forced her feet to move faster
but she was unused to the strenuous exercise, her shoes were thin
and had no grip on the packed, sometimes stony, earth and she could
not get enough air into her lungs. She flagged, stumbled over a
tree root and fought to regain her balance but it availed her
nothing. She shrieked when the man grabbed her arm and forced her
to stop; she struggled and twisted in his grip, too frightened now
to make anything other than involuntary whimpers; she tugged and
pulled but could not get her arm out of his grasp…suddenly, she
remembered the dagger and reached down for it with her free hand,
fumbling with the cloak that blocked access to her gown and the
cord around her waist to which the dagger was fixed, all the time
pulling and twisting away from him, no longer paying attention to
him…when all at once she felt a sharp, blinding pain explode on the
left side of her face and everything went black…

…She woke up gradually, groggily, but
remembered what had happened immediately. She had a tremendous
headache and couldn’t focus her thoughts but she remembered it in
bursts of images. She was back on the horse, bouncing up and down
uncomfortably; the horse was moving faster than it had done
previously; she was once again astride it—but this time she sat in
front of the man and it was his arm that snaked around her waist
and held her so firmly she could scarcely take a breath.

“Awake, are you?” she heard his harsh voice
demand. She didn’t answer; she was too frightened to speak. In all
her pampered life a rough hand had never grabbed her, threats had
never been made against her and she had certainly never been
struck. She was dazed and overwhelmed by events and the
possiblilities of what lay ahead.

“There’s been a change of plan,” he
continued. “I’ve decided against going to the Perfeddwlad. I don’t
know anybody there. But you needn’t fear I’m taking you to Rhuddlan
because I’ve no wish to be skewered on the point of your husband’s
sword. If you’d been paying the least bit of attention when
Rhirid’s whore was talking, you’d have noticed that we’re traveling
in the same direction she said Rhirid had gone. I figure Rhirid
will be very grateful to learn what that bitch Goewyn’s been up to.
Grateful enough to forgive me and let me back into his circle.
That’s all the reward I need. There’s nothing the prince could give
me—” His breath caught on the phlegm in his throat and he started
coughing violently. From a vague distance inside her head, Teleri
worried that spittle would land in her hair, because she knew she
had lost the square of brown cloth. He tightened his grip on her
waist with each successive spasm so that her body was shaken as
much as his. At length the fit ended with the now-familiar splat
onto the ground. He removed his arm from her waist in order to wipe
his sleeve across his mouth but it was a fleeting respite and the
arm was immediately returned to its lodging place. “I don’t know
who Goewyn thinks she is to make decisions for Rhirid,” he said,
his voice no longer harsh but plaintive. “It’s no secret she runs
Dylan’s life but that’s his problem. Taking it upon herself to get
rid of you affects all of us. I wouldn’t be surprised if Rhirid
casts her out of Llanlleyn, and Dylan behind her…”

He rambled on but Teleri ceased listening.
She was sleepy and couldn’t stay focused on the meaning of his
endless words. She fought desperately to stay awake because if she
were about to meet Rhirid again she didn’t want to seem dazed, but
it was difficult. Her head sagged downwards and the only thing in
her field of vision was the mesmerizing blur of passing ground.

The first splash of rain slightly revived
her; cold, fine droplets. She was glad of the rain: she wanted to
be as uncomfortable as possible, to feel as sorry for herself as
she could. She hoped it was a long, steady storm and not merely a
shower. She raised her head and closed her eye and the cool water
on her face seemed to restore her equilibrium. And then something
happened which banished all her tiredness.

She heard her captor’s sudden intake of air
and felt his body tense. Again, the arm tightened around her waist.
She opened her eye and saw on the path ahead of them a trio of
horsemen who were decidedly not Welsh, but Norman. Elation jolted
through her, making her stomach lurch and her heart pound. Rhuddlan
wasn’t as agreeable as the Perfeddwlad but at this point it was
more welcome than Llanlleyn.

The Welshman jerked on the reins and the
horse stopped. For an instant, he and the Normans stared at each
other, neither side moving; then one of the Norman horses lifted a
foreleg and pawed the ground like a bull preparing to charge and
the Welshman sprang into action. He pushed Teleri away from him and
pulled the horse’s head around in one fluid motion, and fled back
down the path.

Teleri hit the ground hard and fast, landing
on her shoulder with such force that the wind was knocked out of
her and for a horrifying moment she couldn’t breathe. But she was
sufficiently aware to realize that the knights were going to chase
after the Welshman and so, gathering all her strength, she rolled
herself off the path and into a cluster of thin, scraggly bushes. A
snap of the fingers later and the Normans came charging.

They thundered past with shouts and whistles,
paying her no attention, intent on their quarry ahead. Teleri
opened her mouth and to her relief was able to gasp the moist air
without pain. She raised herself until she was half-sitting,
half-kneeling, her arms propping her up. She looked down the path.
The Welshman never had a chance. The distance between him and the
Normans wasn’t enough to make his capture debatable, and the latter
were upon him almost instantly, forcing him to stop. One of the men
took his reins and another began talking to him. Teleri couldn’t
hear the words but she was surprised because she didn’t remember
anyone other than Richard Delamere capable of speaking Welsh and it
was obvious the man understood what was being said to him because
he calmed down, nodded several times and then responded.

And then he pointed at her.

The three Normans turned in their saddles and
looked at her. Although only a moment before she had had trouble
breathing, now her breath came rapidly. She felt strangely
lightheaded. She didn’t recognize them; their faces were obscured
by the protective nasals which came down from their helmets and
they were dressed in undistinctive battle gear. They stared at her
and spoke among themselves, discussing her for so long that she
forgot her apprehension and grew irritated. Did they intend to keep
her sitting in mud for the entire afternoon?

Finally, one of them kicked his horse and
came down the road towards her. She decided to get to her feet and
salvage a bit of her dignity, and slowly pushed herself upright.
Her head swam and her stomach felt sick. She squeezed her eyes shut
and the dizziness drained away. When she opened them, the knight
was standing only several feet away. She still didn’t recognize him
but she’d never paid much attention to every one of her husband’s
men. She was a little puzzled when he asked if she were indeed Lady
Teleri of Rhuddlan but even as she retorted sharply she flushed
with embarrassment, realizing she must have looked a mess,
disheveled from travel and the rain, dressed in a cast off gown and
nondescript cloak, hair hanging down untidily in dripping
snarls…small wonder he had to ask!

It wasn’t until he’d politely instructed her
to put a foot into his stirrup and take his hand so that he could
hoist her onto the back of his horse and this had been accomplished
that her suspicion grew. As they rode back to the others waiting
down the road, she realized that he’d spoken to her in Welsh.

Richard Delamere ran as fast as he could in
his bulky, heavy hauberk, up the short incline to where Longsword
sat on his horse and watched the activity in the meadow with an
increasing frown. “My lord! Change of plan!” he shouted.

“What the hell is going on down there?”
Longsword demanded.

“The slope is slippery from the rain,”
Delamere said, hands on his knees, breathing heavily. “Several of
the horses couldn’t control their footing. What are the Welsh
doing?”

“Turning back! They saw the commotion.”

“They know we’re here…”

Longsword nodded grimly. “We’ve got to go
now. We can’t let them get to the woods.” He took up his reins.
“Don’t just stand there, Richard!” he snapped and kicked his horse
forward, shouting orders to his men both mounted and on-foot. By
the time Delamere managed to hoist himself into his saddle, most of
the army was halfway down the hill, with Longsword at its helm.

It was pure luck which had led the Normans to
Rhirid. Scouts had spied the Llanlleyn party as it came out of the
hills and proceeded onto the knobby vale, headed in their
direction. Longsword could not have hoped for a better meeting; the
Welsh would be forced to fight a Norman-style battle, on open land.
All the advantages would fall to him. His men were organized and
efficient and worked as a group, unlike the Welsh who were used to
fighting helter-skelter, with quick strikes and sudden retreats.
And while the Welsh preferred to fight on foot, the Normans’ power
relied heavily on the combined strength of a knight and his horse.
A charging line of mounted knights with their spears held
horizontally was almost invincible. But only on open ground.
Longsword and his men had remained hidden to ensure that Rhirid
would cross enough of the meadow to make a bloodless retreat
impossible.

But several Norman horses, unable to keep
their footing on a steeper part of the rocky hill, had put that
scenario in jeopardy. The Welsh saw no shame in prudent withdrawal
and Longsword could see that they were already turning around. His
archers would never be able to catch up and he shouted for them to
stop and take up positions on the near side of the stream. The only
way to rescue the situation, he thought, was to somehow get behind
the Welsh, force them to turn again and drive them into his
archers.