A movement at Daffyd’s side made him turn, and he saw Lord Rhys looking in the same direction.
Rhys said, “There’s no woman with him. I wonder where she is?”
Daffyd said, “Perhaps she is dressed in men’s clothing.”
Rhys said impatiently, “No, there would be no need for that, not in our land. And I would know her seat in the saddle anywhere. She is not there. She must not have wished to come back.”
“Perhaps she could not come.”
“She refused to come,” said Rhys stonily. “There’s an end of it.”
“Perhaps she is coming with her grandfather’s troops, behind the van.” Daffyd’s suggestion was not hopeful. “I don’t see Niclas either.”
Daffyd saw in his master’s eyes a look of despair, as a man might look if he saw the end of his dreams and knew that only drudgery and despair lay ahead.
Daffyd, full of compassion for Lord Rhys, attempted to divert him. He said, “Notice the swagger of the man; I have seen that before. I think he must have done something, something he does not wish to make much of. Perhaps he did not even go to Port Madoc. And yet there is a secret triumph, in the way he rides.”
Rhys nodded. “I mislike it much.”
He moved down the road to meet the approaching men. When he got close enough to hail Caerleon, he cried out, “We feared something had happened. You’ve been so long on the way.”
The words meant nothing, except to bridge the gap between them, for Rhys’s eyes were searching the troops, hoping he had been mistaken and Gwyn was there. But no matter now, for he saw that the Lady Gwyn was not with Caerleon.
“I have much to tell you,” answered Caerleon.
Caerleon rode through the gate and dismounted. Some of the men wore bandages. Jenkyn, when he alit, nearly fell. His leg bore a savage wound, and blood showed redly through the makeshift bandages.
“What happened?” asked Cynan, Dewi’s brother. “Where’s Dewi?”
Caerleon ignored him. He came to plant his feet wide before Rhys and place his hands on his hips. “I agree with you now, Rhys,” he said crisply. “We need law and order in the land. We were overcome by outlaws, who ambushed us — with the sorry results you see.”
“Where is — Niclas?” Rhys could not bring himself to ask about Gwyn.
“I didn’t see him.” Caerleon turned to Elfod. “Did you see him?”
“Not I,” said Niclas’s murderer. “The track is very perilous. No doubt he fell in with bandits, as we did.”
Nesta’s own lady in waiting, Siôned, while holding herself aloof, yet had eyes only for Caerleon. Her eyes met Caerleon’s across the space between, and the message was passed clearly. Siôned turned and went back to tell her mistress who had arrived, but she hugged to herself the sure knowledge that Caerleon would seek her out that night.
“Siôned, must you burst in that way?” complained Nesta. “Sara would have —”
“Yes, lady,” said Siôned submissively. It went strongly against her grain to bow and scrape before this princess, who had nothing to do but find fault with her new maid. Sara had grown too old, and her fingers too gnarled, and Nesta had dismissed her old nurse from service.
But Siôned, knowing herself to be sought after by the dashing Caerleon, did not listen to the querulous whining of the princess. Siôned’s thoughts lay entirely upon the coming night, when Caerleon, starved — as she thought — for woman’s love, would lie with her. The night would be filled with his pale, wicked eyes, and his tantalizing hands …
And, best of all, the winter was coming, and Caerleon would be all hers.
When at last Caerleon’s men dismounted and were led off to their new barracks, Caerleon and Rhys went off together to Caerleon’s old quarters, followed by Daffyd and Cynan. Caerleon said, jesting, “Haven’t you married your beauty yet? I thought you would have moved into the princess’s quarters by this time.”
Rhys said, “There are troubles here. All is going badly. Griffith is balking at mustering an army, and I doubt we move out this fall.”
At length his need to know, held on a tight rein for all the long time that Caerleon had been gone, came bursting forth, “Where is the Lady Gwyn? Why didn’t she come back?”
Caerleon said, “I’m upset over this business. I thought we would be out of here and riding down into the valley. Doesn’t Griffith expect winter is going to come? Doesn’t he have any desire to add to his wealth?” He pounded his fist into his hand and said, “I do not like the idea of spending another winter here.”
What he did not say was that he feared that news would come down from Port Madoc during the winter. He hoped to be fighting in the valleys of Monmouth at least, before the news came of the massacre at Port Madoc.
But Rhys, unaware of Caerleon’s secret fears, said, “We’re safe from attack here, for the Normans won’t fight in winter. All that Griffith thinks about, when he thinks, is keeping safe from the Normans. I doubt if he ever saw a Norman in his life!”
Caerleon pursued his own line of thought. “I do not like to spend another winter here,” he repeated, “when there’s all that loot out there just for the taking. The Normans don’t fight in winter, and we will destroy them like sitting ducks.”
Rhys, not diverted, returned to his question. “Did you see Gwyn?”
Caerleon looked away, refusing to meet Rhys’s piercing eyes. But Rhys pressed him, insisting on an answer. At length Caerleon decided he could evade it no longer. “Yes, I saw her.” There was brittle triumph in his eyes, as he defied his leader. “You may congratulate me. For I have married the girl.”
Choking with anger, Rhys demanded, “You married her? You did not tell her I wanted her to come back? You went up there —” His anger muffled his words, and they fell into incoherent syllables. “I want to see her! I don’t believe you! She wouldn’t have married you —”
“But she did,” retorted Caerleon.
“Where is she?”
“In Port Madoc,” said Caerleon, “the last I saw her.”
“Why didn’t she come back with you? Did you leave her up there alone?”
A series of emotions flickered over Caerleon’s face, like clouds passing over a valley, as he searched for words. He had indeed left Gwyn up there alone, as dead as the rest of them. Even his faint conscience stirred at the thought of the havoc in Port Madoc. The havoc he had wrought.
Rhys roared, “I’ll go myself to find her!”
A flicker of fear shone deep in the pale eyes, and Caerleon said hastily, “I wouldn’t, if I were you. She wouldn’t want to see you, I promise you!”
Brought up short, Rhys stared at him blankly. “Why not?”
“You must realize that traveling is not the thing for a woman in a delicate condition.”
The blood drained from Rhys’s face. Caerleon should have been warned by the glazed look in Rhys’s eyes, but he could not refrain from baiting the man he hated and envied so deeply.
“It took no more than a couple of weeks to convince her,” said Caerleon, dangerously prodding his leader. “She all but leaped into my arms.”
Rhys said, in a choked voice, “But you were gone so short a time …” What he meant was, She forgot me so soon!
Caerleon said, with a hint of a swagger in his shoulders, “And it is no surprise that she should be with child, for I found the night not nearly long enough, nor did she. I began to see what took you to the tower in Ludlow so often. But she is mine now, and not yours.”
Rhys moved toward him, his fist in the air. “I’ll kill you for this! You traitor!”
“I did not mind,” added Caerleon with malice, “that my bride was no virgin. It made all easier, you see — no maidenly fears to overcome. I could hardly satisfy her demands on me —”
He should have been prepared for the lunge, but he was not. Rhys’s thick hand grasped Caerleon’s throat powerfully, and the force of the onslaught sent Caerleon back against the wall. Daffyd entered hastily, having stood outside liste
ning. Daffyd, not for any love of Caerleon, but only so that Rhys would not live with regret his life long, pulled his master away from Caerleon. Daffyd was a powerful man, but it took all his strength to release Caerleon. “Best get thee out of here!”
Caerleon did not need a second invitation. Massaging his bruised throat, muttering half-heard threats, he was gone, and Daffyd released Rhys.
The next hours were dark indeed.
With Cynan’s help, Daffyd managed to get Rhys to his quarters. Cynan, with an expression of heartfelt relief, vanished, leaving Daffyd to do what he could. Daffyd barred the door behind them, and let Rhys give full vent to his fury.
Daffyd had seen the long look exchanged by Caerleon and Siôned. Traitor Caerleon was — if Caerleon told the truth — not only to Rhys, but also to the lady he had married. Daffyd’s hand twitched near the handle of his dirk, and he wondered whether he had not been foolish in preventing Rhys from meting out the justice the man so richly deserved.
Rhys’s fury spent itself in pacing the dirt floor, in pounding his fists helplessly against the walls. Rhys raged, and then fell silent, only to rise up and pace the floor again. When at last he was coherent, he explained the trouble to Daffyd. “She prefers him! She wed him, and she betrayed me.”
Daffyd ventured, “But you were to wed Nesta, so it is no wonder the maid thought —”
Rhys said, “I particularly charged Caerleon to tell her that I wanted her back, that I would not wed —”
“But the maid thought —”
Rhys overrode his protests. “And she welcomed Caerleon, welcomed him! Of all the faithless creatures! How mistaken I was in her! She could not wait to get herself with child!”
He ground his teeth, and finally, like a giant boar felled by violent storm, slowly slipped to his knees, and then buried his face in the pallet. “My girl,” he moaned, “carrying that traitor’s seed!”
Daffyd had a dark suspicion that the message had not reached Gwyn in the form it had been sent. But he was anxious that Rhys not kill Caerleon, at least not in the court of Prince Griffith, so he did not voice his suspicions.
As the day wore on, the two of them, sitting in the darkened room, heard a tap on the door. Princess Nesta entered without waiting for an invitation and said in her light voice, “It is time for dinner, Lord Rhys. I have waited for you. How does it look it I am not escorted?”
Rhys looked at her, for the first time allowing the dislike he felt for her to show in his face. But Nesta, intent on her own thoughts, did not notice.
She tried to rouse him again, but he said flatly that he was not coming to dinner, and she flounced out, pouting.
Siôned said, as she accompanied her mistress to the dining room, “There is nothing to worry about, lady. For the Lady Gwyn is wed to Caerleon and is no longer a threat.”
Nesta turned her pale blue eyes on her lady-in-waiting and said calmly, “I was not jealous. Jealousy makes marks on the forehead. I have noticed this in others. I have no reason to be jealous, for surely no one, not even the Lady Gwyn, is as beautiful as I. But if she has wed Caerleon, this means that you yourself are speaking with envy. What will you do now?”
Siôned said, “I have no reason to fear the lady, alive or dead.”
She was confident of her hold on Caerleon. If the Lady Gwyn still lived, she thought, it would not matter to her. For Caerleon was hers, body and soul. And he proved it — at least, the former — that night.
At that very moment Gwyn was coming south from what was left of Port Madoc. She had with her a small troop of a dozen men, some of them still suffering wounds, but all of them burning with the same white-hot flame of revenge. They were scaling mountains with inexorable speed. They camped for the night when they had to. They caught hares and spitted them over a small fire and ate frugally.
All that kept Gwyn alive, all that mattered to her men, was revenge. She looked around her at the men with her. Aidua, the priest, his eyes burning in fanaticism. Dewi, Taran, and the others. The same unholy light flamed in every pair of eyes she saw. Satisfied, she set her face once again toward Brecknock.
2
They were caught in the mountains, when the first of the fall snow squalls arose abruptly from the ocean and scudded inland, to throw itself against the flank of the mountain. The wet snow clung to Gwyn’s clothing, and to her pony. She turned in her saddle to look behind her, after the first of the snow had come. The men of Port Madoc, covered in snow from head to toe, looked like ghosts. The snow clung, it penetrated the crevices of her garments. Cold water ran down her neck and turned the tips of her fingers numb. She had hoped that when they topped this rise she would be able to see the Brecon Beacons and know that they were within sight of their goal.
The journey had not eased her mind. The troubles of her physical body were as nothing compared to her dreams, dripping with blood, fraught with pain. She was not carrying Caerleon’s child. Perhaps she was barren, but she was so grateful to be rid of him at last that she didn’t dwell on the thought.
The snow never stopped falling, and her pony picked his way slowly, unsure of his footing. He slipped as the snow turned into slush. The near accident frightened him, and he came to a standstill. He refused to go any farther, not even when she got off and urged him forward. She turned back to her men and saw that they were indeed in bad shape. Aidua, no longer in his right mind, slumped on his pony, as though waiting for the end of the world. The others behind were equally in a state of numbness, and she realized that they could easily die right there on the ledge.
She was numb. Her toes had no feeling, and soon she would not be able to move her legs. How useless to come this far and die before she reached her objective! She needed to kill Caerleon. That was what she had to remember. But somehow Caerleon seemed as far away as Byzantium. She could not even remember his face.
Calling to her men to follow her, she moved to the head of her pony, grasped the bridle firmly, and began to pull him down the mountain track. It took, she imagined, the better part of a week, although it was still daylight when she reached level ground. As they reached the floor of the valley, blessedly, the snow lessened and finally stopped. Looking back up the mountain, as her men gathered around her, she could see the edge of the snow clouds like the hem of a blanket. Here in the valley it was still light, and the sun shone on the far mountain. Conscious of a feeling of victory that she had led her own men to safety, she looked for shelter. She found it halfway across the valley. It was a sheepcote, rude at best. But it was warm against the cold night air. The men, grateful for their escape from the storm, slept well.
Two days later they halted on the top of the last ridge, from which they could see the walls of Brecknock clearly in the sunlight.
“One last time let us counsel,” said Gwyn. “Do we agree that we must at once lay charges against Caerleon and his men?”
Aidua objected, “We do not even know if he has come this far.”
“True,” said Gwyn, “but sooner or later we must lodge our complaint with authorities, and this is the first place to start.”
Dewi intervened. “We have no proof. It is merely our word against his.”
“We have wounds.”
“But,” said Dewi, “so have they.”
Aidua’s voice came in a chanting monotone. His eyes were half-closed, and one long bony hand was upraised, almost as though to shield his eyes from the glare that no one else could see.
“I can see … they will not believe. The hand of man is against us, and only God believes!”
Taran interrupted. “Lady, my allegiance is to you. I have lost my old friend, your grandfather, my prince. We were boys together. I have as much right to vengeance as any man alive. Yet, I beg of you, do not seek your revenge at once.”
Gwyn said grimly, “He does not deserve to live.”
“I know. But —” He glanced around at his fellows, and it was clear that they had come to a decision without her. “Let us first see how the land lies. It will do
us no good to gain our revenge if we do not live to savor the taste of it.”
She faced them angrily. “So, you have come this far, and now grow fainthearted? I had not thought it of the men of Port Madoc! Or have you forgotten?”
Taran’s mouth twisted. “My son, his wife, my unborn grandson? The only heirs of my body? No, lady, I have not forgotten.”
Overcome by remorse, she reached out to touch Taran’s arm. “Forgive me. Your loss is so much greater than mine, and I am shamed by my hasty words. I cannot say — yet — that I agree with you. But I shall follow your lead.” She turned to her companions. “Taran must speak for us all. Please, dear Taran, lead, and we will follow.”
Taran and Aidua were united against her. “Justice will be served,” promised Taran, “but we dare not risk all by too hasty action. Let us see what Lord Rhys tells us.”
The decision was not to her liking. But she had agreed to follow Taran’s lead.
As they entered the courtyard, Caerleon stood aghast at the appearance of one he had thought dead. More than one, he saw, as his glance passed from Gwyn, to Aidua, to Dewi, and to the others.
Elfod, his lips drawn back, baring his teeth, whispered, “You were overgentle with the woman.”
Caerleon snapped, “She could not have lived through such a night. You did not finish her yourself, so rail not at me!”
“But she did live. So?”
“Leave me alone! I must think.”
It was not fair, he thought, that his victims should be resurrected to face him. He had, at the last, been unable to kill her. He had left it for others to do — to savage her with their bestial rutting until she died. But she had lived. Taran, too, was here, and Dewi, men whose word Rhys would believe. He could not think what to do.
Prince Griffith welcomed Gwyn’s little band with cordiality. He had no fear that the lady’s return would interfere with Nesta’s marriage, for Gwyn’s ravaged appearance, even to the fading bruise on her cheekbone, was no threat to his beautiful sister.
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