He was proud of his
argument; after all, it
was
all true. Lene was practically sweating. And then,
to his surprise, Teleri laughed.
“I wondered why you asked for a parley after
your vicious threats yesterday,” she said, the anger gone from her
voice. “You had made it sound as if you’d have no trouble at all
taking this fortress, but this morning you came to beg for peace. I
finally understand. You know my husband is back and you’re afraid.
You want to get the earl out of here because you’re afraid my
husband will kill him. You don’t have time to waste fighting. You
want him now.”
She looked back at Lene. “As
for the question of my loyalty, I think Lord William put that to
rest when he came here last night and asked only for
me
. He told
me
what he wants us to do
about the threat from Sir Roger and giving up the earl was not part
of his instructions. So, Sir Guy, I don’t think we have anything
more to discuss with Sir Roger.” She fixed contemptuous eyes on
Haworth. “Let him wait by the river. Because my husband has gone to
find his soldiers and when he returns, he’s expecting
battle.”
Longsword traveled at a quick pace, switching
mounts when he sensed his was beginning to tire of his weight
combined with the punishing pace, but apart from that one instant
of realization, he passed much of the journey in a daze. His mind
was numb and could hold few thoughts. He didn’t want to do too much
thinking, anyway, because the cold fact of his utter solitude
confronted him whenever he did. Richard was gone and now he had no
one. He was all alone…
When he stopped a little after midday to
water the horses at a narrow brook, he bent and examined the
ground. The force of the previous day’s rainstorm had been blunted
by the forest’s canopy of leaves and the impressions of a multitude
of hooves and boots were more obvious than they’d been on the open
land. The prints were heading in the same direction as he. He
recognized immediately that this was his army and was hopeful that
he’d join it before nightfall.
But as he straightened up, he was aware that
he was under scrutiny for the second time that day, only this time
it wasn’t children who watched him intently but a Welsh archer, who
seemed to have materialized from thin air and who stood unmoving
before him, heavy bow curved majestically, sinew cord pulled taut
to the ear and gleaming arrow aimed directly at his chest.
Longsword, surprised, could only stare and then he heard the
clomping of approaching horses and turned his head slightly. Two
mounted Welshmen, one carrying a long spear and the other a sword,
halted a few paces from him. He couldn’t recall his name, but he
recognized the one holding the sword, a huge man with black hair
and long mustaches: Rhirid’s champion.
The horses halted. Longsword, remembering
Teleri’s story, remained still. This was unexpected, he thought.
They looked like angry men, unsmiling and silent. Why? They had no
grievance—it was supposed to be Rhuddlan with the grievance,
Rhuddlan which believed one of its own had been murdered by someone
from Llanlleyn. So why was that arrow so decidedly fixed on his
heart?
Had Haworth sent out other assassins—ones who
had not failed—to intercept the messenger, and were his men right
now besieging Llanlleyn?
The one with the sword spoke but Longsword
didn’t understand a word. He did, however, understand the gestures
to throw down his own sword and to remove his boots and hauberk.
The first two items were easily discarded but it was nearly
impossible for a man to take off his hauberk without help and the
Welshman with the spear dismounted and grabbed hold of the armor by
the shoulders. As it was pulled over his head, Longsword debated
fighting back but thought the better of it. That arrow was certain
to fly and he doubted his father would be very impressed with a son
who was killed, barefoot, swordless and with his vision obscured by
a hauberk, trying to escape from three Welshmen.
The warriors spoke among themselves,
obviously discussing what to do with him. He watched them blandly,
feeling strangely detached from what was happening. He didn’t think
they would kill him; surely they would have done it already and
surely Rhirid would want to see him first. He started at the
thought. If he went to Llanlleyn, he was certain to see Olwen…What
would he say?
The discussion was short. The Welshmen seemed
pressed for time but Longsword understood their urgency if
Llanlleyn were truly under attack. The spearman took out a knife
and cut a long swath of Longsword’s cloak, which he then wrapped
around Longsword’s eyes and tied securely. Another rip and a second
piece of cloth bound his wrists in front of him. Then the man took
his arm and pulled him forward. Longsword’s bare foot stepped down
on the point of a stone and he stumbled, immediately expecting to
hear shouts and the whiz of the arrow being released and exhaling
with relief when nothing happened. His hands were pulled up to the
pommel of his saddle, his foot was placed in a stirrup and he
hauled himself onto his horse. Reflexively, he felt for the reins
but the Welshman had taken them. He was to be led.
The ride was long and fast. It was especially
arduous for him because he wasn’t able to see and had no warning
when the trail suddenly dipped or inclined or when there was some
obstacle over which his horse tripped. He tried contorting his face
in every direction to shift the blindfold, to no avail. All he
could do was hold on tightly to the pommel.
The land they traveled was forested but every
now and then a break in the tree covering would send warm sunshine
down onto the top of his head. This ordeal might have been worse,
he told himself ruefully; this might have been the day before, and
it would be rain running down his head and shoulders, not sunlight,
in addition to the other indignities of being bootless, defenseless
and trussed up. How Richard would laugh at the sight of him! He
smiled to himself and, for a moment, felt his tension lessen.
At last, they halted. Someone gave a tug on
his leg and he dismounted. The cloth over his eyes was removed and
he blinked and rubbed his bound hands into them. The bowman said
something to his companions and walked off. The other two sat on a
fallen tree trunk, rummaged in their leather bags and came up with
half of a round loaf of bread and chunks of strong cheese.
Longsword accepted a share. He sat opposite the Welshmen. The bread
was going stale but he was hungry and he gnawed on it while his
guards spoke softly to each other and darted occasional glances at
him.
The bowman came back, startling everyone with
his silent approach. He obviously had important news and the
previously murmured conversation became quite animated and the
glances in Longsword’s direction became calculating stares.
Undaunted, he chewed his cheese and stared back.
By the end of the rough meal, a consensus had
apparently been reached. The blindfold was replaced and he was
again brought to the horse and helped up. But this wasn’t his
horse, nor his saddle. He could tell immediately but before he had
a chance to react, one of the Welshmen climbed up behind him. He
felt the edge of a knife at the side of his neck and the Welshman
said something in an ominous tone.
He heard the remaining men mount up and they
set off. Longsword had no idea where he was, no idea where Rhuddlan
was. The man sitting behind him was sucking the errant fibers of
his afternoon meal through his teeth, practically in Longsword’s
ear. Seated on an unfamiliar animal and virtually in the lap of his
captor made him very uncomfortable. Every heavy footfall of the
horse jarred his shoulders and threatened his balance. He wondered
how much longer he would have to endure this humiliation.
Then he heard it: the sounds of fighting.
They were sounds he knew very well. Men
shouting, taunting, horse hooves thumping into the soft earth,
arrows whining through the air; jeers and cheers. He didn’t need to
see the scene to know that his men had not gotten the message…and
for some reason, he thought again of Olwen, imagining her sitting
nervously with the other women inside Llanlleyn, trying to
understand the siege and wondering if Richard were coming to save
her.
The knife at Longsword’s throat was so close
that he was forced to keep his head back to avoid it but he didn’t
need to see to understand what was happening. His captors were
bringing him into the fortress. They would have to go right through
the besieging Normans to do it and he was their guarantee of safe
passage. Any attempt to rescue him or to shoot one of the Welsh
would result in his immediate execution.
It was only when he heard the gradual
cessation of the fighting that he knew they’d been spotted by his
soldiers. He heard fitz Maurice’s loud, urgent command to check all
weapons, to give the Welsh and their prisoner a wide berth,
repeated over and over. He heard the sudden pounding of approaching
hooves and was surprised that someone would go against fitz
Maurice’s order and jeopardize his life but then he heard fitz
Maurice himself ask him how he fared in an almost frantic voice
before the Welsh shouted at him and the blade pinched the thin skin
on his neck and he felt a tickle of something roll down under his
shirt. He said in as strong a voice as he could muster that he was
fine and fitz Maurice answered that he would await his orders. Then
Longsword felt the horse beneath him slow and felt himself tip
slightly backwards as if they were ascending a short hill. More
shouts, the sound of a gate being opened and then shut, level
ground and finally the knife dropped away from his neck and
Longsword swung his head backwards so viciously that his captor was
knocked clean off the horse and fell unconscious onto the packed
earth.
Chapter 55
June, 1178
Rhuddlan, Gwynedd
Teleri had taken advantage of the general
listlessness which always seemed to follow the heavy midday meal to
retire to her chamber, where she lay on her bed in the
semi-darkness of the shuttered windows and thought her plan
through. But the day was warm and she was drifting into a light
sleep when she was roused by a faraway thudding noise and then her
servant shaking her gently by the shoulders.
“My lady!” the woman whispered urgently,
“wake up! Sir Guy Lene is asking for you!”
She grumbled as she got off the bed and
allowed her clothing to be straightened and her hair brushed but
she was pleased Lene had sent for her. She suspected he would have
given in to Haworth’s argument earlier that day and released the
earl if she hadn’t been present to stop him, and she’d hoped she’d
made it clear that she expected to be involved in every decision
concerning Rhuddlan until Longsword returned for good.
A soldier was waiting to escort her to the
gatehouse and she climbed the ladder up into the tower where Lene
stood, bent forward over the railing and staring intently at
something in the distance. He was oblivious to her arrival until
she called for his attention and then he whirled around.
“My lady!” he exclaimed. “You must see this!
Sir Roger is taking his men and leaving! Come look!”
His face had lost its tired, anxious
expression; it beamed like the sun. Teleri stepped to the railing
and peered towards the river. The makeshift camp, which had been
mostly obscured by the trees, did appear to have been abandoned and
when she followed Lene’s pointing finger south along the road she
saw Haworth’s army walking and riding at an even pace. About half
the parade had already crossed the stone bridge but the men were so
far away she couldn’t make out which one was Haworth himself.
“Well, well…” she said cautiously. “Perhaps
he thinks if he goes, we’ll release the earl.”
“Don’t you see, my lady?” Lene could barely
suppress a triumphant cackle. “It’s what you told him—that Lord
William would be back looking to fight. He got scared! He’s running
away!”
Teleri was skeptical. “Surely his army is
larger than Lord William’s. He must know that, as well. Why should
he run away?”
Lene shrugged, and Teleri knew it was enough
for him that Hawarden was leaving. He didn’t care why.
“You didn’t tell him about Sir Richard, did
you?” she asked. He said he hadn’t and she believed him. What she
couldn’t believe was that Haworth would abandon the earl. She
turned back to watch the snaking line of Normans make its way
across the bridge and wondered what the man was plotting.
“My lord,” Olwen said tentatively, halting
several feet away from where Longsword sat on a stool, “how do you
fare?”
“If you’re referring to my head, it’s fine,”
he answered. “But I’m past anger now. I want to know what’s going
on. Why I was seized and brought here, my arms bound as if I were a
criminal, blindfolded and my weapons taken away. And my boots,” he
added, indignantly. It was a relief to speak again to someone who
understood what he was saying and the words came pouring out like
the violent gush of water in a rain-swollen river. “I’d like to
know why I’ve been thrust into this mud hut and kept waiting
without so much as a cup of water for common courtesy. I’d like to
know what has happened between Rhuddlan and Llanlleyn since I’ve
been gone.” He glared at the half dozen armed men behind her. “I’d
like to know what my men are doing here!”
She nodded and turned to the warriors and
translated his words. Almost immediately there were raised voices
and angry gestures in response. But the man standing next to her
held up an impatient hand and the protests subsided. He addressed
the others in a firm, commanding voice. Longsword recognized him as
Rhirid’s cousin and immediately felt snubbed. Where was the chief
himself?