Bond of Blood

by Roberta Gellis

  Clear blue eyes looked gravely from the elderly man's austere face. "I had pressing matters to attend to. Call off your dogs, my lord, for I have a song to sing for you."

  "A song? Now?"

  "A song of great men, of great fools, and of great fears. And these are the Three Great Troubles of Wales."

  That was clear enough. Llwellyn's song concerned the present unrest in Wales. Even in his anxiety to get to the heart of the matter, Radnor could not help smiling as he turned to Cedric.

  "Gather up that person of compassionate bowels, Cedric, and take him back to his horse. What is his name, by the way? He is new among my men."

  "Odo, lord, and what of these?" Cedric gestured with his bow towards the two Welsh trackers from whom he had not taken his eyes.

  "They are remitted their pains. It would need a magician, not a tracker, to catch Llwellyn in Radnor Forest. Also see that the boy's hurts are dressed."

  Calmly and with great dignity Llwellyn leaned forward on the long staff he carried. His long white hair stirred gently in the breeze and he regarded his master for a long moment before he began to speak in a voice so musical that he might have been singing.

  "I will sing you a song of a king careless of custom, of lords careless of reverence, and of subjects careless of life. And these are the Three Carelessnesses that bring Grief."

  "God's truth," Cain muttered, but not loud enough to interrupt the bard.

  "In years past Richard Fitz Gilbert was the first lord of Wales. He was a man of great desires and greatly he desired a kingdom. Therefore he made peace in the mountains. That peace was hard and bitter, for Richard swallowed alive the first-born of every man, and he was a great plague upon the Welsh, and he set great tasks upon them, and they builded for him a great and impregnable fortress. But he was a man careless of reverence to them to whom it was due, and this carelessness wrought him great harm, for the colors of his horses and his dogs changed from silver to red, and still he took no heed."

  Sir Harry had gone to the baggage animals, returned with a low camp stool, and set it up. Radnor glanced at him keenly, but grasped his forearm for support and eased himself down without comment. Sir Harry was right, of course, this tale would take some time in the telling, and Cain glanced uneasily at the sun, knowing that if Llwellyn took very long they would never come to Penybont in daylight. It was hard to believe that Llwellyn was using delaying tactics, even though the news he was relating was ten years old, because bards sang the glories of a particular family and would usually cling faithfully as long as there was a man of the family to sing to and to sing of.

  Llwellyn's voice had continued elaborating on the signs and portents that Richard had ignored and come finally to the denouement in which Richard had been ambushed and killed. "Thus Gilbert Fitz Richard, who was son to Richard Fitz Gilbert, took the land and ruled it as was becoming to the heir, and still there was peace of a kind in the mountain kingdom. The peace was less quiet, for this plague was lighter and so the men groaned more and gave more thought to old wounds since there were few new ones to lick. Yet it is custom that the son shall inherit from the father, and they might have been still, had not the king who was careless of custom found him a man who was careless of reverence for the bond of blood. Thus Gilbert Fitz Gilbert, brother to Richard Fitz Gilbert, also desired a kingdom in Wales, caring naught for what he owed his brother's son.

  "Now it could be seen that on the hills many trees grew without tops, only the side branches flourishing, and those not greatly. Then a great fear overcame the men of the mountains, and he that was careless of reverence for the bond of blood fed that fear, that instead of losing only the first-born, the tribes themselves might become headless. Thus they were plunged straightway into madness. Others saw the signs differently, however, and said it was the bringers of the plague who would die, and the tribes, like the side branches would grow, although thinly, because of the sacrifices of war. So between fear and hope these became careless of life, thinking that it were better to bring matters to the proof than to live in uncertainty of what would next befall."

  Radnor grunted softly. This was recent information, and though he had heard it before, he would like to know how the Welsh tribes found out Pembroke was trying to grab Fitz Richard's lands. Even more puzzling was why Llwellyn was telling him this. The bard knew of his marriage to Pembroke's daughter and might guess that Pembroke's plans were familiar to him. Radnor's body tensed with the conflict between the urgency to go and the need to hear Llwellyn out.

  It was impossible to hurry the old man, for any interruption was an insult and he would merely stop speaking and leave. The thought of applying the same inducement to speak to Llwellyn that had been applied to the boy never entered Cain's mind. For one thing it would be useless, for another Llwellyn was an old and trusted friend. He would as soon put Giles on the rack.

  "Look not at the sky, my lord, but listen." Radnor started and found Llwellyn's piercing eyes, which had been fixed upon a point immeasurably distant, now upon his.

  "My friend, I listen, but it grows late and I would keep my men from needless hurt. It is sometimes dangerous to travel in the Welsh woods at night."

  "Listen, I say," Llwellyn replied with calm assurance. "You will not travel this night."

  Lord Radnor started to rise, incensed at the idea that Llwellyn should give him orders, but the old man's eyes remained fixed upon his, and the dignity of a profession that had once caused the greatest chieftains in Wales to tremble gave him pause. He sat back, frowning slightly but reassured.

  "It was even said," the melodious voice went on, taking up the tale again, "that these matters would spread beyond the lands of the bringer of the plague, and that in certain other places in the Marches all matters would be changed from the straight path. Look you, my lord, to see if your own black horse is not spattered with red where no blood but yours could run."

  Again Cain half rose from his seat, then sank back tensely because the story had hit home but had not come to an end. Coupled with the previous tales of Pembroke's desire to rule Wales, the warning of an attempt on Radnor's own life could only mean that the attempt would be arranged by Pembroke. As if to make the accusation against Radnor's father-by-marriage clear, Llwellyn took a step forward and grasped Cain's arm. He bent forward before he spoke again, his pale eyes boring into Radnor's startled brown ones.

  "Some say that the sins of the fathers shall be visited on the sons for many generations. By the sin of a father, the lands of Radnor passed through the soft white hands of a maiden away from her father who was their rightful lord and into the hard grasp of a stranger. Now it is said that the sin will be redeemed, and the lands shall pass again—again through the sin of a father and through the hands of a maiden, but this time back to the hands of the maiden's father."

  "I thank you," Radnor said quietly, but his eyes were empty as if to feel anything at all would be dangerous. The girl he could not help loving, did she know of this? He got painfully to his feet. "It is good to know what the winds whisper to the wise men of Wales. But why do you say I will not travel tonight?"

  "Not only winds whisper, Lord of Radnor. Men whisper too. We have had two whisperers in the village, and it was to tell the people to hold them straitly that I took to my heels when I saw you come. So well had they done their work that I too believed you would come here no more—and for other reasons."

  "Truly, I suppose you had your reasons, but what, now it comes to my mind to ask, were you doing in the village, and why are you dressed in the clothing of a serf?"

  "Sir Robert bade me go. He said he had no need for my caterwauling. I believed then that there were no more Lords of Radnor Forest, and that you would come no more to Wales, for else he had not dared."

  Lord Radnor's scars flamed suddenly in a face gone white with rage. "Another score I have then to even with him, and with—" He bit that off. "You need not fear, Llwellyn, your revenge will be complete, and you may spit in his face before he dies if it wil
l ease your heart." A satisfaction I will never have, Cain thought, as he paused to get voice and temper under control. "For now it does not matter. I would like you to come with me to aid my trackers in any event. One moment, I want to tell Giles to give orders for camping and get you a horse."

  "It is quicker to go through the forest," said Llwellyn.

  "Ay, but easier to go on a horse by the road. Your paths through the woods are for a mountain goat, not for such as I."

  The false dawn was lighting the sky before Radnor and his party returned to camp. Of the group, Llwellyn, although the eldest, was the least tired; he had not been present at the questioning of the two men held by the villagers. Radnor went to his own tent and collapsed on the cot. Out of the sight of his men, he could relax the iron control he kept over himself for their edification. He buried his face in the bedclothes to muffle the sounds he was making and shook and shook until he thought he would jar his bones apart. It had been worth it, for he had a good deal of information now, but the information had not been easy to get. In mercy he had ordered the throats of the quivering lumps of raw flesh that had remained when he had finished with them to be cut. The eyes had thanked him when they saw the knife coming, for the voices had long since been screamed away.

  Chapter 9

  When his body was exhausted, Lord Radnor at last lay quiet. His mind, however, found no rest, squirming away from the remembrance of the physical agonies of his prisoners only to meet his own emotional pain at the treachery of his father-by-marriage. Not that Pembroke had ever been a favorite with Cain, but that he should have a blood bond with a man so steeped in depravity and greed disgusted him. He did not dare think of Leah's position in this tangle. Every time her name crossed his mind, Cain broke out into a sweat with fear. At last he slid from his cot with a groan to seek Giles.

  "Send someone along to the village and have him bring me a woman," he said to his master-of-arms. "I cannot sleep."

  Giles dressed to do as he was told without comment. Usually he would have had a few caustic remarks to make, but he had seen the haunted look of his master's eyes, and would not add to the trouble he was already bearing. He did not think that a woman would bring Lord Radnor sleep that night, but she would at least give him something pleasant to think about. He was irritated, too, because he had no time for the usual evening council on what was to be done the next day, and when Lord Radnor had a woman with him it was impossible to enter his tent before the first light, as was his custom, to ask for orders.

  His problem solved itself, however, for when he went yawning to wash, there was Lord Radnor sitting on a camp stool with the remains of his breakfast before him and his eyes fixed upon the first streaks of dawn in the sky. He had not changed his position and his expression was forbidding, but when Giles returned he squatted down and muttered a morning greeting. From the look of his lordship's face, Giles thought that his guess had been right. If Radnor had slept for ten minutes in the night, he would swallow his bow without gagging.

  "I sometimes think," Radnor said, suddenly breaking a long silence in which he had not acknowledged Giles' greeting or presence in any way, "that if I see or smell any more blood I will go mad. You have been a soldier for more years than my whole life, Giles, does this never happen to you?"

  "I don't remember any more, my lord. These days I don't seem to notice the blood at all, except to wash it off when I get sticky, if I have the chance."

  Radnor burst out laughing. "That is why you are the best lieutenant in England, Giles. You are absolutely literal and nothing at all can surprise you."

  "I wouldn't say that. The Welsh surprise me all the time. I wouldn't hardly credit it when I first came to serve your father what they would do, and after all these years, by God's eyes, I still don't believe what I know about them."

  "I am more than half Welsh, Giles," Radnor said slyly.

  "Yes. I know," replied the older man with his usual wooden expression. "That's what I meant. Half the time I wouldn't credit the asswise things you do if someone just told me. Why didn't you send me to question those men last night? You know you have no taste for minced meat. Now you won't be sleeping for a week and you'll be keeping me awake half the night fetching whores for you."

  For a moment Radnor was open-mouthed with surprise—it had been quite some time since Giles had administered a tongue-lashing to him—then he laughed again. "Your tongue grows no kinder with the years. The next thing I know, you will have my chausses down to paddle me."

  "It couldn't do you any harm, but I never noticed that it did you any good either. Any notion that gets into your head is in for good. That's enough of your nonsense now, my lord. What's next to do?"

  It was impossible to take offence at a man who had paddled your behind for your own good twenty years ago, so Radnor laughed again, more easily, and outlined what he knew and guessed. Pembroke had spread the word that Fitz Richard was in prison. The Welsh, as usual, had decided to make hay while the sun shone. Envoys had been sent from Fitz Richard's territories in all directions to arouse the tribes so that there would be rebellion all over at once and the Norman forces, already weakened by the lack of or change of overlord, would have to spread thin and be unable to concentrate to crush the rebels. An attack was planned on Penybont within the next few days. Of Pembroke's part in Sir Robert's plans, Cain said nothing. It was not necessary for Giles to know, and until he was sure that Leah had no part in the plot, he could not bring himself to speak of it.

  It was likely, Lord Radnor pointed out and Giles agreed, that the force around Penybont was large and growing larger, since they planned to take the castle by assault. No pressure—and every form of torture that several active and desperate minds could devise had been applied—had been able to draw from the captives the expected size of the attacking force or the exact day of attack. Radnor could only assume that the wretches truly did not know, but he was faced with the problem of deciding whether to attack the rebels at once or wait until he could marshal a larger army of his own. His mercenary troop was large and well trained, but it was not competent to take on a full-scale army.

  "It seems to me, Giles," he said after they had discussed the matter for a while, "that we would do best to fall upon them at the dinner hour when their belts are loosened. If the force is too large, we can make off without much hurt to ourselves, particularly since a few hours will bring darkness. We will do some damage and put the fear of further retribution into them. We might even take some prisoners and discover thereby what more is planned."

  "Ay, my lord. If the force is still small we can disband them. Even if it be large and we can put them into sufficient disorder, Penybont may be able to send out men to help us or we may delay the major attack on the keep."

  "If Penybont is still ours."

  "If it is not, we will have our work cut out for us. We had better send to your father again, my lord, and tell him to bide at Pembroke's keep until this battle is over. Mayhap he will need to summon the vassals."

  "More than that, even. I must make haste to be at the king's council in the very beginning now. Above all, Pembroke must not have Fitz Richard's land and Stephen is such a fool that he might be persuaded thereto. Pray God we can put them down at Penybont and my father can hold them quiet until I can free Fitz Richard. Curse Chester for leading the boy into this when he should be guarding his lands."

  "Well, I always said your godfather was caper-witted, but he means you no harm—which is more than I can say for that father-by-marriage of yours. Curse them both, if you will, but let us set about our part of the business." Giles shrugged off future problems and went to give orders to the squad captains.

  Radnor stretched his legs, which had been folded under him and leaned against the tent pole staring at the slowly reddening sky. He rubbed his hand over his burning eyes and, as he dropped it, brushed the cross that Leah had again fastened around his neck. It had hung forgotten outside of his clothing, and now he slipped it into the neck of his garments where it
lay cold against his skin. Cold comfort, he thought. Leah herself seemed so warm when she lay against the same place. Was the warmth, like that which the cross was now taking on from his own flesh, spurious and ephemeral? If she knew of this plot, he would kill her. Even as Cain thought it, he knew he would do no such thing. She was so—not beautiful, but the hair like honey, the wide greenish eyes, and above all, the expression of trust on her face. Perhaps she had meant to warn him against Pembroke but had been afraid. Perhaps that was why she had begged to be set at Painscastle.

  "Now what ails you, my lord?"

  Radnor lifted his head to look at Giles. "Nothing. Why?"

  "You have been sitting for ten minutes looking at nothing. Your servant is waiting to take down your tent, and the men are assembled and waiting for you to speak to them."

  "Very well, I am coming," Radnor snapped. He mounted his horse, which was waiting saddled beside the tent and followed Giles' disapproving back into the crowd of waiting soldiers. They made way for him to reach the center of the group and then stood silent, pressing as close as possible to hear because Lord Radnor's husky voice did not carry well. He looked around for a moment with an expression that was almost tender as his glance traveled from one familiar face to another.

  "Many of you, indeed most, have fought often with me before. To you it is not needful to say that I lead you into battle not to gain power or plunder but to keep peace. I have had news of uprising beyond Rhayader, and already Penybont is threatened. You know that if the Welsh descend upon us they will raze the land and we will starve; they will take your women and your children into slavery. It is necessary to destroy them before they do this harm, for if we wait we may be too weak to defend ourselves. Then we too will die. I know not how large a force lies before Castle Penybont; therefore listen well, for our plans of battle are changeable. We must go with great silence. Pad your scabbards and your bows so that they do not rattle; keep your horses on the turf, avoiding stones; above all do not speak, even in whispers, to one another. Nothing travels through the midday hush of the woods like a man's whisper. You know all these things; I do but tell you once again so that you will be reminded. We form in a wide line in the last shelter we may find and ride down upon the camp in the hour of the evening meal. If the force is too large, we will retreat to save ourselves. Your captains know the place to re-form. Watch well my standard. If I retreat, leave what you are about—even if success seems within our grasp—and follow me. I need not tell you to have courage, for I know you have it. God keep you well, my men."