Crown of Passion

by Jocelyn Carew

  Soon she had wandered far. She looked back from time to time, to see how far she had come from the castle. The gate through which she had come was still open. She strayed a little farther. At once she was very close to the forest.

  She had a sudden strange feeling, a prickling at the back of her neck, that told her someone was watching her. She turned to the forest and searched along its edge. And then she saw him.

  A Norman, in armor, standing at the edge of the forest, looking at her. She stopped still, the blood freezing in her veins. She glanced wildly behind her, judging the distance. She could not reach the castle before the Norman fell upon her.

  She stared fearfully at the Norman. He had removed his helm and held it close to his chest. With the other hand he made a gesture of supplication.

  “Don’t you know me?” said the knight.

  “Should I?”

  He took a step out from the forest. With the play of light on his features, she recognized him at once.

  “Brian! What on earth —”

  “Surprised to see me?”

  “Of course I’m surprised. I had no idea — Brian, you’re in armor. What does that mean? You’re not a knight!”

  “I — borrowed it, let us say. I thought you’d be glad to see me.”

  “Oh, I am,” she assured him hastily, but not entirely truthfully. For he had no friendly business here. She wondered why the scouts had not given the alarm.

  “Did you come alone, Brian? Why? You must know that you can find no shelter here.”

  “No?” he said in a curious tone. “I thought you would help me.”

  “Help you if I could, of course. You know that, Brian. But the sentries will shoot any Norman who shows himself — and Lord Rhys is not an easy man.”

  “So it was Lord Rhys that took you away!”

  She bit her lip in vexation. “No, he did not. But I can’t tell you more, Brian. For heaven’s sake, get out of sight! The sentries will kill you if they see you —”

  “But I’ve got to talk to you,” he said, at once urgent. “Can’t I meet you somewhere? Come back with me into the trees.”

  Caution, even though belatedly, took hold of her. “No, no, I can’t do that,” she protested. “The sentries on the wall yonder would carry the tale at once to the chiefs.”

  “Chiefs — then there are more than one?” His expression altered, and he smiled winningly. “Come, Gwyn, I have much to tell you, and we can’t talk here.”

  She considered a moment. He was a friend, he had been very kind to her when she had first come to the lodge, and she knew well that he had had his troubles as well as she had. She remembered how very kind he had been to young Jeanne, endlessly patient with her. And she thought that, as something had died in her when Jeanne leaped to her death, so too had something died in Brian. She smiled.

  “Come into the castle,” she coaxed. “I’ll see you safe.”

  Brian looked fearfully over his shoulder. “I can’t. I’m afraid.”

  “But you are alone?”

  “Yes,” he said. “I came to talk to you. I came all the way on that terrible track, but I must see you before I leave England forever.”

  Gwyn said, startled, “How is this?”

  Brian said, “I can’t talk now. I fear that they are already watching you from the castle. Come out to me tonight, I’ll meet you right here, and I will tell you.”

  Gwyn shook her head firmly. “No, I cannot.” And yet she wanted so badly to talk to him, to hear all the news of his mother and Margit — and, of course, dear Hyrtha. He was probably the only friend she had left. Suddenly she knew how she could manage.

  “I’ll let you in tonight, if you promise you will come alone.”

  Brian said on a bewildered note, “But I told you I was alone.”

  She swiftly outlined her plan to him. “If you come to the postern gate — you can see where it is, straight across — just before the moon rises, I will come down and let you in.” He agreed with alacrity. She turned and ran back across the meadow. Her heart was singing. She let herself in through the postern gate and closed it behind her. It would be barred later tonight, but she knew the way to open it. There were only a few steps from the postern gate to the stairs going up to her rooms, and she surveyed them critically. She thought, with satisfaction, that she could spirit Brian up to her rooms, without anyone in the castle knowing he was there.

  Surely it could do no harm to see an old friend — fearfully abused by the Normans, and hating them as surely as she did — and learn all the news before he left England forever.

  The castle yard finally quieted, slumbering softly in the muted starlight. She had sent Morwyth away early, and she could only hope that Dewi had eaten enough to make him doze.

  She descended the steps from her room, stealthily, to the ground floor. She eased the bar up and inched the door open. Gradually her eyes grew used to the dark.

  There was no one outside. She waited, sore with disappointment, and finally stepped outside the wall. In the shadows something moved. “Brian?” she ventured. He came toward her. He had left his armor behind, she noted and was pleased, for clanking armor would betray the presence of an intruder.

  She did not think of him as an intruder, but as an old friend. She was delighted to see him again, but she had a strong suspicion that Rhys would not see Brian in the same light. She clutched Brian’s sleeve and pulled him after her. She moved to bar the postern gate, but Brian stopped her. “I may have to leave in a hurry,” he told her, “and I would not be able to get out easily.”

  Gwyn said, “I dare not leave the door undefended.”

  She did not see the dark look flick over Brian’s face. She turned and sent the bar home, silently, and turned to lead Brian into the keep. There was no trouble on the way up the stairs, and soon she had him sitting in a chair opposite her, with only the faint light from the embers to illuminate their faces.

  Brian looked around, with a sneer on his handsome face. “So this is where you spend your nights — with Lord Rhys, I doubt not. A bare room indeed.”

  “We have little need of luxuries here,” she told him. “I’ll pull the pallet closer so we can talk. Do not raise your voice, for the sentry on the wall is not far away.”

  “Sentries!” he said vehemently. “All this talk of war and fighting — but no doubt your lord has time for a bit of smelly tumbling now and then!”

  “Brian!” she cried out. “What has changed you so? You were never coarse tongued. Your mother often said so.”

  “And she called me less than a man,” said Brian fretfully. “Perhaps so, but she made me, you know. Strange, I never thought of how I was made. But enough of that.”

  “Yes,” she said quickly. “Tell me all the news of the court. How is Prince Henry?”

  “Fine. Getting bastards all over the place. But the Welshman has no such luck, I see.”

  Controlling her temper, Gwyn said, “Rhys does not spend any time here. I doubt he has ever even been in the keep.”

  Brian said, with a wise look that sat oddly on his youthful face, “But there must be some attraction, or you would not have come so far with him.”

  Gwyn, still smarting over the letter from Griffith of South Wales, retorted quickly, “Don’t worry about Rhys! He is going to marry the Princess of South Wales, to cement the alliance.”

  Brian chuckled. “You are jealous, I can see that. I never thought the day would come when you would be jealous of a savage, untamed beast like that Welshman.”

  Gwyn turned hot. “If that’s what you came to tell me, then I’m sorry I went to all the trouble to let you in. I wanted to hear about your mother, and have you heard anything about Hyrtha?”

  Brian said, “I was right. You are jealous.”

  “What is the news from Winchester?”

  The news was not at all good, Brian told her. The Pope’s emissary had begun his return journey to Rome, and Hyrtha had disappeared at the same time. Brian himself suspected, he told G
wyn, that Hyrtha may have gone with the Pope’s emissary. At least, her body had not been discovered so it was likely she was not dead.

  Gwyn, unsettled by the callousness with which he spoke, asked, “How is your mother?”

  “My mother? She went quite mad, you know.”

  “Mad?” Gwyn breathed. “How tragic!” After Brian had been raped by the king’s minions, Gwyn recalled, Countess Maud was obsessed by the idea of taking revenge on the author of his shame, but Gwyn had believed the countess would recover with time.

  “It could have been,” he said, “for she tried to kill Flambard. And then the fat would have been in the fire!”

  She stared at him. “I have yet to see you show any sympathy for her,” she told him at last.

  Brian shrugged. “She is in the hands of the church now, and I am rid of her constant nagging. I did try to keep her from killing anybody, but she wouldn’t listen to me. She never did hear me when I tried to tell her things. You did, though, Gwyn. And that’s why I came to seek you out. Can you not leave here and go with me? I’m to sail for France in a week, and I’d find a shelter for you. You’d never have to go back to the king. For old time’s sake, Gwyn. We’ve been through a lot together, you and I — poor little Jeannetot.”

  For a moment they were caught in sympathy, thinking of the sad, once laughing child. But Gwyn shook her head. “I cannot. I must go —”

  “Where your lord leads? I had thought better of you.”

  Gwyn said flatly, “I can’t go with you.”

  Brian said, “You surely can’t imagine that this castle will hold out very long?”

  She had no illusions as to what would happen to her when the castle fell to King William’s men.

  Nonetheless, she had no yearning to escape to France in the company of Brian du Pré. He was an old friend, and she had a certain kind pity for him, but that was not enough to sustain her through days and weeks of flight through the countryside, and spending the rest of her life in Normandy.

  She said, “I’m sorry, Brian, I can’t.”

  Suddenly Brian was down on his knees before her. “You are my salvation, Gwyn! I am in deep trouble, and there’s only one chance left for me. If you were to come to Normandy with me, I know I would be able to redeem myself and change. My mother wishes it most seriously, and so do I. Please say you’ll come.”

  “Brian, I can’t. Please don’t ask me. I have left King William’s court, and whatever befalls me here is better than the shame that William put on me. I cannot go back to a Norman land, not even Normandy.” She toyed with a fold in her skirt and added, “I would never be safe from William, even then. Not unless I went into a convent, and that life is not for me.”

  But Brian was still arguing. “Your only hope is to get to France,” he told her. “Will Rhys try to attack the Normans? If he does, then you are without defense. King William will come down on you as a traitor —”

  “He already thinks I am!” retorted Gwyn.

  “You mentioned chiefs, before. Isn’t Rhys alone here?”

  She bit her lip. “I should not have mentioned them. A slip of the tongue, Brian. Promise me you’ll forget it.”

  “All right, if you wish,” he said easily. “Besides, who would I tell?”

  “You came alone, without even a squire?”

  “You forget,” he said tartly, “I am only a squire. I borrowed the armor. Devilish heavy to wear, too. But I need you, Gwyn. You haven’t a chance here, you know. Not when de Lacy comes. There’s only a sword waiting for you — and by the time those knights get through with you, you’ll welcome it!”

  He really had her own safety at heart. She longed to travel into Wales toward home to see the mountains and the valleys, to see how her tribespeople lived, and the scenery was magnificent. But if she were on her own … supposing Rhys were taken prisoner after the walls of Ludlow were breached …

  Brian, sensing victory, urged her, “If you wander away from the castle again tomorrow, as you did today, I will meet you at the edge of the forest, and we will be off.”

  She said, “Just you and I?”

  He agreed, too hastily, and she wondered if he had come all this way without even a squire, or an extra horse to carry his baggage, and for the moment her heart misgave her. She was not sure she hadn’t been the fool of the world to let a Norman into her rooms, even as old a friend as Brian du Pré.

  Brian was ready to leave, and now he seemed more than anxious and uneasy. He opened the door and looked out. The stairs were in darkness, and he could see nothing beyond the shadow cast by the door against the firelight. Brian turned and looked back into the room. Gwyn was sitting on the pallet where he had left her, her hands folded in her lap. He said, “For the sake of our old friendship, I cannot stir without you.”

  And out of the shadows stepped Rhys ap Llewellyn. Brian squealed at the grip on his arm and stumbled back into the room. Rhys closed the door behind him and rumbled, “I’m afraid you’re going to have to stir without the Lady Gwynllion.”

  Gwyn leaped to her feet and cried out.

  Brian twisted away from Rhys’s vicelike grip and flailed his free fist against Rhys’s chest. It was in vain, for Rhys paid no attention to him. His eyes were all for Gwyn, and she read in their depths a certain contempt that scorched her.

  Still holding him at arm’s length, with his other hand Rhys searched for the dagger at Brian’s belt and found it. Dropping it on the floor with a gesture of scorn, Rhys said, “Now let us see what this fine bird has for us!”

  It was all her fault, Gwyn thought. Without thinking, she launched herself on Rhys, trying to hold his arms and shouting, “Brian, run!”

  Rhys was stopped for only a second. He merely lifted one massive arm and held her back, as though she were no more than a puff of vexing wind. She pounded at his arm and finally sank her teeth into the fat base of his thumb.

  He shoved her then, and she fell back on the pallet, her breath knocked out of her.

  “So,” said Rhys heavily, “you let a spy into your rooms. You do surprise me.”

  “I merely wished to entertain an old friend! He is no spy!”

  To Brian Rhys said abruptly, “Where are your troops?”

  Gwyn spat out a response. “He came alone. It was a greatly daring thing for him to do. He is alone, I tell you!”

  Rhys said with a wolfish grin, “I doubt it. You think this fine bird came alone?”

  Without waiting for an answer, he shook Brian as though he were a rag doll. Still addressing Gwyn, Rhys sneered, “You think this pretty toy came all the way from Winchester alone? Do you remember that trip?”

  Vivid pictures flashed before her — the long, hard, bone-jolting track, fording rivers, the cold camps when the rain fell in the night. She had loved every minute of it, she remembered — arduous as it was. But could Brian have done it? And alone?

  The question touched something in her. This was why, she realized, she had not leaped at his offer. She wanted to be out of Ludlow, but at base she mistrusted Brian. And if he had lied about coming alone from Winchester, then he could have lied about all other things he said.

  She said faintly, “But he is on his way to France, escaping from —”

  Rhys snorted. “Not a word of truth. A good thing that Dewi saw you and came to me, lady, for he is your greatest friend. This manling would have let his fellows in the postern gate this night.”

  “Oh, no, Brian! How could you shame me so?”

  “Save your tears, lady,” advised Rhys. “If I am not mistaken, you would not have lived to feel guilt.”

  Brian’s eyes darted around the room, and his tongue moistened his red lips. “I would not have wanted to kill her,” he said, trying to make his position clear. “But she could have talked, you know, before we were inside.”

  Gwyn gazed in horror at Brian. “How could you? Or — how could I have believed you?”

  Rhys’s grin was more wolfish than ever. His voice dripping scorn, he said, “What did y
ou tell him? Where the sentries were, how many men were under arms, how quickly you would open the gates to him and his army?” Gwyn shrank back, fearing that he would lift his great fist and strike her. It was no more than she deserved, she knew. “Or, even better, did you promise to go out with him, knowing that I would follow you? Is that your idea of a trap?” Rhys demanded.

  Gwyn hid her face in her hands, in despair and guilt over her own folly. She did not see Rhys pull Brian closer to him, nor did she see Brian shrink back, like a frightened rabbit, away from Rhys.

  Lord Rhys, at that moment, was a dangerous man. He could have killed Brian, the Norman knew, as easily as crushing a fly. But Brian, bringing out the only defense he knew, squeaked, “The king will come after me! Don’t touch me!”

  Rhys hesitated. “William will come after you? Why?” Rhys laughed. “He must have a dozen like you!”

  Brian said, with a perverted kind of pride, “Oh, no, I am the favorite now.”

  Rhys towered over Brian and glared into his face. Brian, hypnotized like a rabbit under the ferret’s stare, told Rhys then, in gabbling spurts, all he wanted to know — An army was coming under Roger de Lacy, to take back the fort, and to send Rhys and Gwyn back under guard to Winchester. He himself was part of an advance troop, come to spy out the land.

  Gwyn heard Brian’s confession with mounting despair. She cried out, “Then it was all lies!”

  Brian, diverted by her cry, said with a meticulous desire for accuracy, “No, the part about my mother is true. She is going into a convent in Normandy. At least, the last I heard, she was. We have sort of lost touch with each other!”

  Rhys stepped to the door and found Daffyd waiting just outside. He turned Brian over to his henchman. Daffyd spoke only one word. “Kill?”

  Rhys said, “No, he is to be allowed to return to his army, with the news he came to seek. But it might be that his news will be old by the time he is able to tell it.”

  The two men smiled in complete understanding, and Gwyn heard Brian’s stumbling feet loud on the stairs, fading away as Daffyd took the spy out of the keep.

  Aware that Rhys was still with her, Gwyn roused and spat out the words, “This is murder!”