Rhuddlan (70 page)

Lying in bed, Teleri had never felt so
insignificant in all her life…

Roger of Haworth was saddling his own horse
in the far end of the stables, away from the grooms similarly
preparing mounts for the contingent of men off to meet the latest
challenge from the south. He felt the need to be alone; he didn’t
want to speak to anyone or listen to idle talk. He had spent the
last five days moving methodically and deliberately keeping his
mind on the task at hand and nothing else. He hadn’t dared think
about the past or the future.

He threw a coarse blanket across the animal’s
back and smoothed it out. He bent down to pick up the heavy,
high-backed saddle and was vaguely aware of a change in the current
of noise from the other end of the stables. He ignored it,
concentrating on lifting and then fitting the saddle over the
blanket. As he set it into place, he heard footsteps crackling on
the straw which littered the walkway before the stalls. This, too,
he ignored. He pulled the cinch snug and buckled it. He reached for
the bridle—

“Roger.”

He stopped. He was suddenly so nervous that
he couldn’t hear for the loud rush of blood in his ears. He turned
around slowly.

“Ready to leave?”

“Almost, my lord,” he said.

Hugh approached him until he was close enough
for Haworth to see the strands of grey in his beard; color which
hadn’t been there before they’d come to Hawarden. It was a shock—it
struck him for the first time that Hugh was getting old.

“Before you go, Roger, there’s something I’d
like to ask you,” Hugh said in a low, pleasant voice.

“Yes, my lord?”

“Did you go to Rhuddlan?”

Haworth hesitated only a heartbeat. “No, my
lord.”

He saw Hugh’s eyes widen instantly but the
earl quickly recovered his composure. “I heard the rumor,” he said,
“I questioned one of your companions and I still didn’t believe it.
So I thought I would ask you and you’ve confirmed what I heard.
That leaves only one other question, Roger: Why not?”

He picked the bridle off its hook in the wall
and stared down at it threaded between his fingers. “I was going to
go. I thought I’d first take a look to the south. You’d always
denied me permission…”

His answer was met with a weighty silence.
Finally, he looked up to find Hugh staring at him in obvious
confusion. “I’m at a loss for words,” the earl said. “You’re not
yourself, Roger. You’ve never refused my orders before. Is
something wrong?”

Haworth’s resolve faltered. He had told
himself that when confronted, he would let Hugh know the true
reason he hadn’t gone to Rhuddlan. He would tell Hugh he knew about
his relationship with de Vire. If the earl had confronted him in a
rage, yelling and red-faced, it would have been an easy task, but
the soft voice and the hint of concern unnerved him. He even
wondered if he was blowing the whole incident out of proportion.
Perhaps there was an innocent explanation for de Vire’s rumpled
head to appear in Hugh’s window in the dead of night…But the
unbidden image was as shocking as the real one had been and
suddenly Haworth heard himself speak before he was consciously
aware of doing it. In a harsh voice, he demanded: “Is it the same
between you and de Vire as it was between you and Bolsover?”

Except for the minute lifting of an eyebrow,
Hugh’s expression never changed. “Yes, Roger…” he said quietly.

Haworth had thought he’d be furious if he
heard a positive answer and was surprised that all he felt was a
terrible sadness. His throat was so choked that he couldn’t say
anything. Hugh watched him, unblinking, somber.

“I suppose,” the earl continued when he
didn’t respond, “it’s better to have it all out in the open. As you
know, the countess is indeed pregnant. While you were away I sent
her out of Hawarden, to Avranches…and Sir Ralph moved into my
chambers.”

He sucked in his breath. “What about me?”

“I’ll do whatever you want, Roger. You’re my
best man. I’ll place you wherever you want to go. Or enfoeff you,
if that’s what you prefer; you can be your own man, then.”

Haworth looked at him helplessly. “But I
don’t want to go anywhere else.”

“I think it’s for the best, Roger,” Hugh said
carefully. “For you and for me. It will hurt you to remain here and
I’ll be miserable because of it. As I wish you happiness, don’t you
wish me likewise?”

“He cannot make you happy!”

“Roger—”

“Did Bolsover make you happy? No! You
admitted as much to me after his death! You said all you wanted to
do was please him and he would never be pleased! Do you imagine de
Vire will be any different? That kind is all the same!”

“Roger, I don’t want to discuss Sir Ralph or
Sir Robert now. If you’re upset, perhaps you ought to stay here. We
can talk further—”

Haworth snorted and resumed saddling his
horse with short, angry motions. “If you don’t want to discuss de
Vire, there’s no point in talking further! Now, please pardon me,
my lord, I’ve got a job to do.”

He noted with satisfaction that Hugh looked
stunned. He supposed Hugh had expected him to continue to argue or
plead. Well, he wasn’t about to waste energy in a futile endeavor
when it could be better expended on Gruffudd ap Madog. Besides, his
quarrel wasn’t with Hugh, it was with de Vire. Having been with the
earl for so many years, he was well-acquainted with the man’s
weakness for simpering blonde peacocks. De Vire was exploiting
Hugh’s generous nature, as Robert Bolsover had done before him.
Haworth was struck by the similarities between the two young men.
He couldn’t help but imagine it would all end the same way.

He returned at twilight the following day
with such astonishing information that any uneasy or ill feeling
between him and the earl vanished immediately upon its telling.
Crossing the border into northern Powys, Haworth and his men had
been ambushed by the Welsh, who had inflicted light damage on the
heavily protected knights before scattering in all directions. The
event was noteworthy, Haworth told Hugh, because he had seen Rhirid
ap Maelgwn alongside Gruffudd’s men.

Ralph de Vire walked to Hugh’s chair with an
almost lazy step and handed him a cup of wine. He turned to
Haworth. “Are you certain? Did anyone else see him?”

Haworth ignored him, keeping his eyes on
Hugh. “My lord, a number of my men can confirm this. It was
definitely Rhirid.”

Hugh swallowed the wine thoughtfully. He knew
that when Haworth had gone into Llanlleyn and seized Olwen and
Teleri, he’d made an enemy out of a former ally but he’d discounted
the threat of retaliation. Surely Rhirid wasn’t stupid enough to be
swayed by a foolish pride into attacking Hawarden’s superior force.
He hadn’t considered the possibility that Rhirid might seek out an
alliance with Gruffudd, but as he digested Haworth’s report, his
sudden apprehension faded. After all, he reasoned, hadn’t he
already defeated Gruffudd and recently gotten the best of Rhirid?
No, he didn’t believe he had anything to fear from this united
Welsh front.

“My lord, if I may suggest…”

Hugh nodded. “Yes, what is it, Ralph?”

“You should march down into Powys to meet
this threat, my lord. A showy spectacle; all your army. Burn
whatever buildings you find and slaughter the livestock. Let these
two petty chiefs take note that you mean business and will
retaliate harshly for any slight against your soldiers, including
what just happened to Sir Roger’s men.”

“My lord, that’s a foolhardy plan!” Haworth
immediately protested. “You’d be exposing your entire army to the
unorganized, unseen quick strikes the Welsh favor. The king tried
this tactic in ’65 and it was one of his few failures! And what
happens if Gruffudd and Rhirid don’t attack at all? How long are
you planning to sleep, eat and travel rough?”

“You can’t compare ’65 to our trouble!” de
Vire said. “The king was more at the mercy of the weather than the
Welsh and his line of supply was too long—”

“His intention was the same as ours—to subdue
the Welsh—and he failed!” Haworth, provoked into addressing de
Vire, snapped.

Whatever merit his captain’s argument may
have had was lost on Hugh, who was annoyed that Haworth kept
harping on Henry’s failure, which for some reason served merely to
remind him of Henry’s great success at Dol.

De Vire appealed to Hugh with an exasperated
expression. “My lord—”

“My lord,” Haworth interrupted, striding
forward to stand in front of Hugh, just a step before de Vire, “a
smarter plan is to imitate the Welsh and send out small raiding
parties to harass Powys until Gruffudd tires of the game and is
provoked, along with Rhirid, into a face-to-face
confrontation!”

“My lord, that could take forever!” de Vire
exclaimed. “It’s nearly the end of August. Winter is practically
around the corner!”

Haworth made a noise of derision but was
prevented from retorting when Hugh stood up suddenly and thrust his
cup into de Vire’s hands. “It seems to me that Sir Ralph might be
right in this matter, Roger. I can see no reason not to show our
full power to the Welsh. And I don’t want to waste time playing
games. Remember, we’ve got the Bastard’s wife and his captain’s
whore here and I’d like to get rid of this Welsh threat before
taking on Rhuddlan.” In a more conciliatory tone, he added,
“Perhaps it’s just as well you didn’t go to Rhuddlan, Roger. I’ve
no doubt our exceptional army can defeat both the Bastard and the
Welsh; it might, however, be awkward to have to do it at the same
time.”

He’d never seen Haworth look so stunned and
he felt a little guilty. His captain stood motionless and when it
was obvious he wasn’t going to respond, Hugh suggested kindly that
he might prefer to remain behind with a small guard to watch
Hawarden. Haworth’s flat rejection of this idea was immediate and
forceful.

“Well, then,” Hugh said, “we’ll leave in the
morning.”

He had almost immediate cause to regret not
insisting Haworth keep charge of the fortress instead of leading
the army south. With every passing league Haworth’s frown deepened
and when they paused for a meal at noon the second day without
having seen one Welshman, he approached Hugh to complain again
about the foolhardiness of their venture. And once again it was de
Vire who answered for Hugh, scoffing at Haworth’s fears and telling
him to return to Hawarden if he was so nervous about engaging the
Welsh.

Purely to allay de Vire’s worry about
possible retaliation by Haworth, Hugh had recounted to him the
conversation with Haworth in the stables. He had thought only to
reassure de Vire; to let him know that Haworth now understood that
de Vire had taken his place. He’d wanted to prove to Ralph that his
interest in him was serious and that was why he’d gone through the
distasteful but necessary step of letting Haworth know their own
relationship was over. But he could never have imagined de Vire’s
response to this news. It was as if an entirely new personality had
been unleashed. Apparently secure in the earl’s acknowledged favor,
de Vire had become arrogant and outspoken, particularly concerning
Haworth. That was natural enough—to be jealous of a lover’s former
bedmate—but Hugh wished de Vire wouldn’t lord it up over Haworth,
who hadn’t done anything to earn such disrespect. He’d been meaning
to speak to de Vire privately about his attitude but whenever they
were alone together he had other things on his mind. He couldn’t
very well reprove the young man in front of Haworth, which seemed
to be the only time he remembered he had to do it.

So now he hadn’t only the Welsh to worry
over; there were Haworth and de Vire carping at each other
constantly and vying for his attention. Hugh didn’t want to think
about his personal life at the moment, even though it kept poking
up in his face. There really was only one solution for this problem
and he would have to convince Haworth to take up his offer of
enfoeffment…or he’d have to dismiss him from his service…

“My lord, my scouts have returned.” Haworth’s
bearded face swam suddenly before his eyes. Hugh started. He must
have dozed off from the affects of the warm sun and hearty meal. He
pushed himself upright and suppressed a yawn. He glanced around as
inconspicuously as possible but de Vire, who had been sitting with
him as they’d eaten, was no longer there. “They’ve spotted a small
group of Welsh a few leagues from here. Warriors. Resting, perhaps,
as we’ve been doing.”

Hugh cleared his throat. “Were your men
seen?”

“No, my lord. They counted only twenty-odd
Welsh.”

“But who!” Ralph de Vire appeared at
Haworth’s side. He addressed Hugh. “My lord, they said one of the
Welsh was Gruffudd and another was Rhirid.”

Hugh’s head swiveled toward Haworth.
“Roger?”

“That’s indeed what they said, my lord, and
I’m sure it’s true. But something’s not right—only twenty-odd men?
And no guard posted? And conveniently waiting not very far from
here?”

“What of it?” de Vire demanded. “They didn’t
expect us to come after them, that’s why there aren’t any guards!
They expected we’d keep behind our walls and retaliate only if they
came onto the earl’s property! My lord, if I may make a
suggestion?” He went on before Hugh could respond. “Let’s split our
army into two parts. The larger part, mostly bowmen and the
footmen, will advance forward to surround the campsite in all
directions. The smaller part will charge headlong into the camp and
when the Welsh scatter in response, there will be Norman swords and
arrows ready to meet them in any direction. My lord, it will be
glory for you!”

“My lord, this strategy is too impetuous!”
Haworth protested. “It’s just too much good fortune that the Welsh
are simply waiting for us. I think it’s a trap!”

“And I tell you they’re merely a raiding
party!” de Vire argued. “My lord, you’ve got Rhirid and Gruffudd
there, protected by only a handful of warriors. We must not waste
this opportunity to kill them!”