Rhuddlan (86 page)

“I’m sorry, Sir Roger, but the lady went with
the earl. Apparently she had a wish to visit her uncle and the earl
very kindly agreed to escort her.”

Haworth didn’t like the way Lene repeated the
word kindly. It didn’t sound as if the man thought either action
kindly at all. Something wasn’t right. In a firmer voice, he said,
“Perhaps we may come in and rest a while, Sir Guy. The rain has
exhausted us. We were to meet up with the earl around Rhuddlan,
this being the halfway point to the Perffeddwlad, but obviously
he’s gone ahead. If we could partake of your hospitality until this
storm passes, you would be doing us a great service.”

He watched as Lene looked over him and
observed the mass of knights, archers and footment assembled at his
back. He didn’t expect Lene to agree and he wasn’t
disappointed.

“I’m sorry, Sir Roger,” Lene told him, “but
we can’t possibly accommodate such a large force within the
fortress. However, if you yourself wish to come in, I can provide
you with a few skins of wine and rounds of bread to bring out.”

Haworth wasn’t fool enough to be taken in by
that one. “Let me pass your messages along to my men, Sir Guy, and
I will return to speak with you.”

He wheeled his horse around, his mind racing
furiously. The plan had failed and Hugh was in danger. Someone had
given it away and when he discovered who…But there wasn’t time for
that now. First, on the very slim chance Lene was telling the
truth, he could attempt to verify one claim. He gestured to a
knight with a particularly swift horse. “They say the earl left at
dawn with the lady. Take the road west and see if you find them.
They don’t have much of a headstart and they must be forced to
travel slow if they’ve got Lady Teleri’s women and baggage. Do you
understand what I’m saying? Go far enough that you estimate you
would have come across them if they were truly on the road and then
fly back here. I’m betting you’ll find no one.” He jerked his head
in the direction of Rhuddlan. “I’m betting the earl is still in
there.”

And if, somehow, Guy Lene had uncovered the
plan, then he would know also that the story about Llanlleyn was
false. He would know that Warin fitz Maurice and the others would
have to be recalled as urgently as possible to stave off the threat
that was now standing before the walls of Rhuddlan. That messenger,
or messengers, had to be intercepted before he reached
Llanlleyn.

Richard Delamere felt lower than he’d ever
felt. He glanced at Longsword, riding sullenly ahead of him.
Longsword was angry with what he considered Delamere’s
foot-dragging, which now resulted in their soggy travel. Delamere
loved Longword as he loved no other man; they’d been close friends
for more than half their lives and the only times they’d been
separated were those days he’d spent with Olwen and his sons at
their manor. He’d thought, only a year ago, that he could juggle
his two lives, but he couldn’t. And when the time had come to
choose between the two, he’d chosen the wrong one.

He thought he’d done it for Longsword, whom
he considered unable to properly look after himself, but after a
year of reflection—endless, agonizing reflection—he concluded that
he’d really done it for his own benefit. He was young, strong and
active and he’d wanted to spend most of his time with similar men
and that had meant being at Rhuddlan and not his manor. He’d wanted
the comfort of hearing his own language and he hadn’t sufficient
experience with small children and infants to be comfortable with
his own sons. He’d preferred being Longsword’s captain to the
unfamiliar role of landowner…

Olwen had never complained, not one word of
reproach, until that day she’d come to retrieve little William. And
he—caught off-guard and before his year of reflection—had dismissed
her complaint with unblinking matter-of-factness. He realized now
that she’d had her own year of reflection long before his.

He reined abruptly to a halt. “Will!”

Up ahead, Longsword turned in the saddle and
then brought his horse to a stop. He walked back to Delamere and
raised his eyebrows questioningly.

“I’m turning off here,” Delamere said. “I’m
going to Llanlleyn.”

Longsword’s sullen expression disappeared. He
looked surprised. “Why?”

“What kind of a question is that? To see
Olwen, of course! And my boys.”

A drop of rain splashed onto Longsword’s
cheek and he sneezed. He stared down the road for a moment and
Delamere thought angrily that he was trying to come up with an
argument against such a plan.

“Richard, we’re almost home—”

“You go on, Will,” he interrupted. After all
he’d done for his friend, including abandoning the only woman he’d
ever truly loved, he couldn’t believe Longsword would still
pathetically try to cling to him.

“I will, of course,” Longsword answered, his
voice, as usual when confronted by an indignant Delamere, cautious.
“I only meant that you might want to get a hot meal in you and have
a bath before you visit her. We could send a messenger to prepare
your way. It would give you time to consider your words—”

Delamere laughed harshly. “I’ve done nothing
but consider my words since the day we left Angoulême. I know
exactly what I want to say.”

Longsword nodded, conceding the point, and
for an instant, Delamere felt his anger soar. Of course he’d
brooded but how dare Longsword make him feel guilty about it when
he was the direct cause of the crisis.

“Richard, we’ve been away for some time. We
don’t know how things stand…It might be dangerous. Fitz Maurice can
let us know.”

“I don’t want to wait any longer, Will!”
Delamere exploded. “I’ve been waiting for months now! If Rhirid
shoots an arrow into me before I’ve passed under his gate, so be
it!” He took a deep breath, exhaled and added in a calmer voice,
“Do I have your permission?”

“I’ll come with you.”

“No. You’d only complicate matters.”

Longsword took that meekly. He shrugged and
picked up the slack in his reins. “Good luck, then.”

He kicked his horse into a trot and rode
away. He refused to look back at Delamere, who had probably already
disappeared, anyway. He didn’t know what Delamere expected to
happen at Llanlleyn but he’d meant it when he’d said good luck.
Life was definitely easier when Delamere was in a good mood.

After a short time, he slowed the horse to a
walk. The rain persisted and he thought to be careful with the
leggy animal. He couldn’t get any wetter and every time he looked
up the road, water splashed into his eyes. He pulled off his riding
gloves because the leather was soaked and clinging tightly to his
hands and because it was easier to rub the rain out of his eyes
with his bare fingers. The tunic under his hauberk was soaked, too,
and heavy and his boots kept slipping in the stirrups. The last
thing he needed was a lamed horse.

The ground began to slope gently downward as
he entered the valley and the heavy foliage that had lined the road
thinned for the moment. He paused and squinted across the grand
expanse but couldn’t see the fortress which sat on a low rise
opposite him. In the winter, when the trees were bare, it was
plainly visible…it was odd to think that he hadn’t seen it in
nearly a year and he was strangely remorseful that he’d left
it.

Before it, the river Clwyd looked grey in the
grey, misty weather and almost indistinct from the surrounding
land. Another drop of rain trickled down his face, causing him to
sneeze again and shaking him from his reverie. Hot food, that’s
what he wanted most. But just as he was about to click his tongue
to his horse, a strange movement in the otherwise still countryside
caught his eye and after a moment he realized it was a pair of
mounted men coming up the very road upon which he rode.

Despite the weather, the men were riding
fast. Longsword sat on his horse and watched them curiously,
thinking they must be from Rhuddlan and wondering who they were. He
pushed the coif back from his head so they would recognize him.

The one in the lead suddenly shouted back to
his companion and Longsword knew he’d been spotted. He waited for
them to reach him because he knew they’d want to greet him and
welcome him back after such a long time away. But to his surprise,
the lead knight blew by him without a glance, disturbing his horse
so that he had to fight briefly to bring it under control. He
cursed. Something wasn’t right. The man obviously wasn’t from
Rhuddlan, wasn’t one of his.

Before he could figure it out, the second
knight reached him. This one, however, reined in and stared at him
from a short distance. Despite the helmet which obscured his face,
Longsword knew he, too, wasn’t one of his men.

He pulled his sword. “What’s going on?” he
demanded.

The knight didn’t answer. Instead, seeing
that Longsword was prepared to fight, he drew his own sword,
suddenly spurred his mount and jumped forward.

Longsword went to meet him, keeping to the
left of the trail, holding his sword out at an angle in preparation
to slash at him as they passed. But an instant before the horses
were to pass, Longsword jerked his mount to the right and passed
the sword to his left hand in one smooth movement. As his adversary
cut down into empty air, Longsword pushed sideways into his
stallion and swiped at the beast’s neck. The animal was startled
and with a shrill noise skipped to its right, throwing its rider
off balance. The pair was already precariously close to the verge
and when the horse lost its footing, the knight went tumbling down
into the underbrush.

What the hell was happening? he thought
wildly. The man had been prepared to kill him. Something was
terribly wrong.

He jerked on the reins and turned his horse
in the direction which they’d just traveled, urging the animal to a
greater speed despite the slick road. His quarry was ahead of him,
growing larger in his view as his swifter mount closed the gap
between them.

He leaned over his horse’s neck as it ran,
his long, straight sword held close by his knee. His adversary had
the misfortune to be less favorably mounted and although the slope
wasn’t sharp, the horse had already been charging uphill since
leaving the valley and was winded. Longsword’s heels clamped down
hard in the stirrups. He raised himself a little, to steady his aim
and to give more force to his blow. His arm came up and slightly
out. And then the point of his blade caught the knight neatly
between his shoulders. The man’s arms flung outwards involuntarily,
his body arched and Longsword drove the sword in further until the
tip broke through his chest. His large horse plowed into the other
and knocked it down. He tried to pull back his sword but it would
not come out as easily as it had gone in and in those few seconds
that momentum kept his horse going forward he should have let it go
but he didn’t. When the other horse fell, screaming, and the dead
knight fell with it, Longsword was pulled off his stallion and
landed on the both of them.

He extricated himself from the tangle and
whooped aloud. What a mighty feat! Then the exertion caught up with
him and he doubled over, his hands on his knees, rain coursing off
his head, and waited for his heart to stop pounding and his
breathing to slow.

He jerked his head up suddenly, still
panting. He’d heard the unmistakable sound of hoofbeats. He looked
down the road, saw his first opponent racing towards him and cursed
himself for not killing the horse. He scrambled for his sword,
still in the dead man’s back, and tugged desperately on the
grip.

“Stay down, Will!” a voice shouted and he
ducked low as Richard Delamere’s horse leapt over him. A moment
later, Delamere attacked and the noise of clashing swords rang over
the sound of the rain. Longsword finally pulled his own sword free
and ran to join them but he was in danger of being trampled by four
pairs of hooves and spent as much time avoiding the horses as he
did slashing at the attacker. Finally, Delamere’s sword landed on
the man’s helmet, stunning him into immobility, and Longsword
reached up with his left arm, snagged a handful of the man’s
hauberk and gave him a jerk so violent that he slipped out of the
saddle and onto him. As the knight tried to rise his elbow knocked
into Longsword’s face and Longsword responded with a forceful push.
The man gained his feet and turned on Longsword with his weapon.
Longsword rolled out of harm’s way but his boots could find no
purchase on the wet ground and when the man descended on him again,
he could only hold his sword out, squint against the rain and pray
but his adversary never struck. Delamere had come up behind him and
jabbed his sword into his back.

The man was dead. Both of the men were dead.
Longsword, however, was too tired to feel the same elation he’d
felt earlier. He lay on the ground, breathing heavily, at last
grateful for the rain which cooled his face. Delamere loomed
suddenly in his field of vision. He removed his helmet. “Can’t stay
out of trouble, can you?” he remarked.

“They attacked me first, Richard! At least,
the other one did. Who are they?” Longsword asked. He sat up
slowly.

Delamere tugged at the first knight’s helmet
until it popped off. “I don’t know for certain, but I think I might
have seen this one at Hawarden.”

Longsword sucked in his breath. “They were
coming from Rhuddlan—they must have been! The damned earl’s broken
the peace! He must have taken my castle!” He scrambled to his feet
with renewed vigor and ran back to his horse.

“Will, if it’s true, you can’t go charging
in!” Delamere shouted after him. “You’d be taken immediately, or
killed!”

Longsword heaved himself into the saddle. He
didn’t respond.

“Did you hear me?”

Longsword walked his horse over to Delamere
and looked down on him. “Are you coming?”