“Yes, and Llanlleyn was destroyed as a
result. The chief—whatever his unpronounceable name is—wants to
come to terms to make certain that doesn’t happen again. So you
see, we can think of it as victory, Richard—”
“And when Rhirid returns?” Delamere cut
in.
“The chief—”
“His father wasn’t able to control him three
months ago, Will!” Delamere’s voice rose again, this time in
frustration.
“I’m not going to worry
about something that hasn’t happened yet, Richard! As I see it,
there isn’t any reason
not
to come to some kind of understanding with
Llanlleyn. Gwalaes will get her daughter back and our debt to the
family of that man one of my knights murdered will be forgiven. All
the loose ends tied up.”
For a moment, all Delamere could do was stand
and stare uncomprehendingly at Longsword. Was it insanity?
Complacency? Or was it, as Alan d’Arques had hinted, Gwalaes’
influence?
Finally he said, “All right. All right—forget
about the wrongs Rhirid’s committed. There’s still your plan, Will.
To get land for your son. We were going to start with Llanlleyn,
you said.”
Longsword’s eyes dropped briefly and his
mouth seemed to tighten but then he looked up and his face was as
composed as before. “I will have to reconsider that plan, I think,
Richard. My son will be the king’s first grandchild. I’m sure he’ll
provide sufficiently for him.” He smiled slightly. “And you were
the one who pointed out that the child could just as easily be a
girl…”
Suddenly Delamere couldn’t listen to another
word. He didn’t know this person who looked like his oldest friend.
In a low voice, scarcely more than a mutter, he excused himself and
hurriedly left the room. He didn’t hear Longsword call after
him.
Eleanor was still sitting in the hall but she
got to her feet when she saw Delamere striding in her direction. “I
hope you’re happy,” he told her in Welsh.
“Isn’t peace preferable to violence?” she
asked.
He shook his head. “Not when it will be taken
as evidence of weakness.”
“I remember the priests telling us about
turning the other cheek,” she said. “I think Lord William is
demonstrating strength, not weakness.”
“Even if he has to swallow his pride to do
it?”
“Pride!” she snorted derisively. “Pride is a
very vain emotion!”
“Perhaps, but it’s one men like us build our
lives around.” He glanced back over his shoulder. Longsword was
coming towards them. He turned once more to the healer and added
before stalking off, “Wake up, Gwalaes! This is the real world
you’re in now, not your abbey!”
There was no rumor spreading around Rhuddlan
that Teleri did not know. She seldom left her apartment and never
ate in the hall with her husband and his noisy retainers and yet
the steady stream of servants to her rooms was sufficient to keep
her abreast of all the news and gossip rebounding off the stone
curtain walls of the fortress. She was particularly interested in
anything to do with Longsword. Having decided to achieve his death
or to at least make him suffer a humiliation like the one he had
caused her, she had become obsessed with him. The increasing
attention he gave to the healer, Gwalaes, did not escape her
notice, and neither did the rumor that he was coming to terms with
Llanlleyn because Gwalaes was in favor of it.
She was rather sorry to see the feud with
Llanlleyn end; she had been hoping Rhirid ap Maelgwn might finish
the job he’d started several months before. It was obviously not to
be—not soon, anyway—but she decided to satisfy her curiosity
concerning the chief’s son by going down to meet the men from
Llanlleyn when they returned. She was interested to see what the
man looked like; after all, they had something in common in their
wish to see Longsword dead.
Someone came to tell her when a pair of the
Norman knights galloped into the ward with the news that the
Llanlleyn chief and his entourage were soon arriving. She hastily
changed gowns, choosing one in a sky blue color which had always
attracted attention in her uncle’s court, and had her women brush
her hair until it gleamed like burnished copper. She rushed down
the stair to the hall, her heart thundering with excited
anticipation, her personal attendants following at a slower pace
and wondering at all the fuss.
The hall was filled with soldiers and
servants. Everyone seemed to be talking at once. Teleri had to
stand on her toes and crane her neck to see over the heads in her
way. The crush of people kept a respectful distance from her so
that she and her women appeared to comprise a little island at one
end of the cavernous room. She didn’t see the Welsh delegation and
breathed in relief. She wasn’t too late. She looked up again and
her eyes immediately met those of her husband. His face registered
involuntary surprise so she tried to look nonchalant; then he
frowned and said something to Richard Delamere, who was standing
next to him. Delamere glanced in her direction and replied.
Longsword must not have liked the answer because his frown deepened
and he raised his voice loud enough for her to hear it, although
she couldn’t make out the actual words. She ignored them, confident
Richard Delamere would win the argument. He seemed to be the only
person to whom her husband would listen.
Unless it was true what they said about
Gwalaes. The healer stood near the front of the throng, close to
but separated by Delamere’s body from Longsword. Ostensibly waiting
for her child to be returned to her…Teleri watched her through
narrowed eyes. She certainly didn’t give the appearance of a
scheming, manipulative woman. She looked quiet and meek. That
explained much of Longsword’s desire for her, Teleri thought, her
lip curling; she’d often suspected her husband felt that if he had
to endure the presence of women, they had better be silent ones.
Small wonder he used to visit Gladys and stare at the walls,
neither he nor she knowing how to say the simplest sentence in the
other’s language.
Delamere was coming towards her. He gave her
a courteous bow. “May I escort you to Lord William’s side?”
He had won. She gave him her hand and they
proceeded through the crowd to the front of the hall.
Longsword was plainly not happy to see her.
“What do you think you’re doing here, Teleri?”
She hated the way he spoke to her. There was
no finesse, no attempt at polite address. Just blunt words. She
smiled innocently at him. “I heard you had guests, my lord husband.
Surely they would wonder if your wife doesn’t come forward to meet
them—”
“They’re not guests. It isn’t a social
visit!”
She shrugged. “It doesn’t matter. It gets so
boring in my chamber, my lord husband. Hearing your Norman language
all day. I look forward to greeting some of my own people.”
“Hmph!” Longsword snorted rudely. “I’m
warning you now to keep your mouth shut and not interfere in my
affairs.”
His abrasive manner angered her but she
refused to be drawn into an argument in front of Gwalaes. Besides,
she knew she was better equipped for an exchange of sarcastic
insults than her husband.
“Which affairs are those, I wonder?” she said
innocently. “Don’t tell me you’ve invited the chief of Llanlleyn
here to seek his advice on your private life!”
Longsword’s face darkened but before he could
retort, Richard Delamere cut in. “My lord only meant these
negotiations are very serious, affecting the lives of everyone at
Rhuddlan as well as Llanlleyn. We can’t allow distractions.”
“I fail to see how I could possibly be a
bigger distraction than Gwalaes recovering her child.”
“Leave Gwalaes out of this!” Longsword
growled.
Teleri stared at him calmly,
masking her surprise. To be so blatant…“Well, it’s true, isn’t it,
my lord husband? Which one of you has the larger grudge against the
chief’s son? Men have to be diplomatic but
we
do not. I expect Gwalaes will not
be able to restrain herself from sharp words at the
least.”
“I think Maelgwn counts his son as a
distraction which can’t be tolerated,” Delamere said.
Her heart sank. “Do you mean Rhirid ap
Maelgwn isn’t taking part in the negotiations?” she asked. She felt
keenly disappointed. It seemed she had changed her gown for no
reason.
“Yes,” Longsword said. Suddenly his whole
demeanor seemed more cheerful. He even grinned at her. “He’s been
exiled to your uncle to learn how to love Normans. What do you
think about that?”
She raised an eyebrow. “Perhaps the prince
will find him a suitable Norman bastard to marry, my lord
husband.”
Longsword’s grin vanished. Teleri saw his
hand clench and knew she had gone too far. But she held her ground
even as he took a step in her direction, trusting in his sudden
recollection of where he was and how many people were watching
them, or at least in Richard Delamere’s timely intervention.
“My lord, they’ve arrived,” a voice spoke
urgently. It was Gwalaes. She touched Longsword’s arm anxiously,
almost as if she would hold him back. “Please look.”
The words and the contact had an immediate
effect on Longsword. He turned away from his wife. “Of course,” he
said, and his face and his voice were now gentle.
Teleri stared in disbelief at the two of them
and then at Gwalaes with narrowed eyes. As Longsword made to step
outside, Richard Delamere moved into his former place and Teleri
saw him watching Gwalaes with a different, though intense, emotion.
Jealously. Sir Richard was jealous of Gwalaes.
Longsword suddenly glanced back at his wife
as if a thought had just occurred to him. “Listen to me well,
Teleri! You had better not say anything untoward to the Welsh or
you’ll regret it. And stop referring to me as your lord
husband!”
“You have just named my most fervent wish,”
she muttered underbreath.
The chief of Llanlleyn was disappointing. He
and his group of conciliatory counsellors looked old, tired and
very eager to come to an agreement with William Longsword. Teleri
stayed in the hall only long enough to give him a proper greeting.
Although she despised her husband and his countrymen, she hadn’t
been joking when she’d said she imagined the Welsh chief would
wonder if the mistress of the castle did not come forward to
welcome him. She would have been mortified if he had returned home
and complained that Prince Dafydd’s niece hadn’t been brought up
with proper manners.
She thought Rhirid ap
Maelgwn wouldn’t have looked so…well,
mortal
. She had never met him, nor
seen him, but she felt she knew him. He was strongly built and
serious. He saw the Norman threat as plain as day. He would not
have stood in Longsword’s hall wearing the expression of a
supplicant. One day he would beat Longsword, perhaps even kill him,
and then she would be free to return to the prince’s
court.
Gwalaes’ reunion with her daughter, a solemn,
self-possessed child, proved to be of more interest than the
political proceedings. Longsword seemed anxious that everything was
well with the girl and that she had been treated benevolently by
the Welsh. He hovered over Gwalaes for so long that Teleri thought
he was making a fool of himself. Richard Delamere didn’t look
pleased by the display of obvious infatuation either. But it was
only when Gwalaes was satisfied that her daughter had suffered no
ill effects that Longsword finally allowed Delamere to draw him
away to the council chamber.
Teleri watched the little girl for some time.
She—her name was Bronwen—was at first sober and then smiling. She
didn’t seem the least bewildered by the whirlwind of events that
had swept her up in the last month and she didn’t appear
overwhelmed by the sight of her mother ensconced in a huge stone
fortress, surrounded by armed men and a crush of servants. She
greeted her mother happily but it was Gwalaes who brushed back
tears and clutched the girl to her body as if she would never let
her go again. Bronwen’s only concession to the circumstances was to
insist that the grey mongrel which had accompanied her to Rhuddlan
not leave her side for an instant.
Teleri was enchanted by Bronwen. She wished
she had a proper Welsh husband so she could have a little daughter
of her own. Instead she was chained to a man whom she hated and
with whom she would never again share a bed. If only Rhirid had
come! Her desire to get away from Longsword had never been
stronger.
When she finally exited the hall she noticed
Gladys standing, almost forlornly, near one of the far walls. The
slut’s face was white, stricken. Obviously she had seen her lover’s
little display of tender solicitude a few moments earlier. Teleri
had a sudden flash of inspiration; the kernel of an idea formed in
her mind. She returned to her apartment thoughtfully and no longer
concerned with Rhirid.
Gladys was not having a wonderful pregnancy.
From the very first she had been struck by bouts of nausea so
severe as to keep her in her bed for days at a time. She had
vomited so often that she had a strong reluctance to eat. Time had
not, as some of the kinder women had promised her, eased the
cramping in her stomach and the dizziness she felt if she moved her
head too quickly. In fact, everything got worse. As she entered her
fifth month, her teeth ached constantly, her hair was limp and
lusterless and her legs had swollen painfully. She couldn’t wait to
rid her body of the life-sucking creature growing within it but,
perversely, it was the continuation of these symptoms which
reassured her that the baby still lived; because she ate so little,
she hadn’t gained much weight and it was only with close scrutiny
that someone might have noticed the slight swell of her abdomen
when her gown clung to her as she walked. She thought with alarm
that she had even caught Longsword looking at her doubtfully.