by Speer, Flora
Yet if he refused Isabel this marriage, what would life at Afoncaer be like in the future? He knew it was often done, but he hated the thought of beating a woman to make her behave, even a woman as difficult as Isabel, and he had not the heart to lock her away somewhere as he ought to do, as anyone else would have done long ago, to silence her complaining.
“Guy? You are a thousand leagues away.” Brian grinned. “Well? What do you think of this marriage plan of Walter’s?”
“I think,” Guy said, grinning back at him while dreams of a peaceful household overcame all his reservations, “that it is time for a wedding at Afoncaer.”
Two days later, Guy, assured by Isabel that she was eager to marry Walter, gave his consent, and they were formally betrothed by Father Herbert. The wedding ceremony would take place on September first. Isabel was in a frenzy of preparations. When Guy relaxed his prohibitions on her so to allow her to send to Chester town for velvet so that Joan could make a wedding gown, she was ecstatic.
In spite of Isabel’s happy excitement and Walter’s obvious pleasure at the wedding plans and his protestations of continuing friendship toward Guy while in Chester’s service, Guy could not shake a feeling of foreboding, not even when he learned the earl of Chester had taken his army and gone to Normandy to join King Henry. There was no reason to worry, and yet he did.
The winter had been hard on Rhys. This year he had not improved with the coming of spring but instead had grown steadily weaker, until now, toward the end of August, he could walk only a few steps before the pain gripped his heart and forced him to sit. The medicines Branwen made for him no longer helped. Meredith and Branwen seldom left the cave these days, both feeling the need to be with him at all times. Thomas came nearly every day, often with Brian. Brian told them that he had led Guy, and anyone else at Afoncaer who might be interested in his activities, to believe these excursions were part of Thomas’s training in stalking game through a thick forest. Brian was skilled at this kind of hunting. It was credible that he would want to teach Thomas.
Today, Thomas was alone. He entered the cave and crouched beside Rhys, who sat propped against the cave wall while Meredith fed him spoons of vegetable broth. Branwen took the basket of food Thomas had brought and began to empty it, shooing away the cat when she would have eaten the cheese.
“You do feel better, don’t you, Rhys?” Thomas asked, one hand on his friend’s shoulder.
“Tomorrow, Thomas,” Rhys said, his old strength flaring briefly, “you and I will walk down to the stream, and I’ll tell you again the story of Gryffydd ap Llywelyn, who fought Harold the Saxon before the Normans ever came to Britain. We were a great nation then.”
“And will be again,” Branwen said.
“Why, Aunt,” Meredith teased, “I thought you had made your peace with the Normans.”
“Brian is only half Norman,” Thomas said slyly, and laughed when Branwen colored. His laughter died at a sudden noise outside the cave. “Brian, is that you?” Thomas called. There was no answer. He leapt to his feet, placing himself in front of his friends as they heard the bushes at the cave entrance being thrust roughly aside. A tall dark man stepped around the fold of rock into the outer chamber.
“Walter!” Thomas’s voice was a strangled gasp of surprise and fear.
“So this is where you go when you sneak away from your duties. Who are these villeins?” Walter fitz Alan sneered down at the boy. “You forget yourself, Thomas, consorting with such folk.”
“They are my friends,” Thomas said stoutly.
“Friends? If your mother knew about this she’d see you severely punished.”
“Please don’t tell her, Walter.”
Walter did not answer. He had seen who was standing directly behind Thomas.
“Meredith, isn’t it? I remember you from Afoncaer. I wondered where you had gone. Did my lord Guy tire of you and send you away from his presence?” As Walter approached her, Meredith backed away.
“No,” she whispered, horrified that he should think such a thing. “It’s not true, Guy never…”
“Guy? Not Sir Guy, or my lord?” Walter’s white teeth showed in a mirthless smile. “So, my old friend has fallen from grace at last. At least he chose a pretty whore to bed.”
“He did not!” Meredith lost her temper at the insult. “I left Afoncaer because of your beloved Lady Isabel,” she flared.
“Isabel?” Walter’s face darkened as Meredith backed further away from him. “What about Isabel? What do you know?”
“Don’t you touch her.” Branwen was at Meredith’s side, the small jeweled dagger she always wore at her waist flashing in her right hand. “Leave Meredith alone.”
“Will you dare to stop me?” Walter mocked, seeing the weapon. “With that paltry toy?”
Rhys had struggled to his feet while Walter spoke. He stood a little unsteadily, supporting himself with his long staff, but his voice was like thunder, reverberating though the cave.
“If Branwen does not stop you, I will. You are unwelcome here. Leave this place at once!”
Walter fell back a step. Then he unsheathed his sword and advanced on Rhys.
“You insolent villein, I’ll put an end to you,” Walter snarled.
“Put your weapon away!” Rhys thundered. One bone-thin arm rose majestically, grey sleeve flowing as he pointed a long finger at Walter. “Leave us! Go!”
Walter raised his sword, and before Meredith’s shocked eyes the cave erupted into violent action. Thomas let out a yell and grabbed at Walter’s sword arm. Branwen screamed and stabbed at Walter’s other arm with her dagger just as Brian appeared in the cave entrance, saw what was happening, and threw his arms around Walter from behind, holding him immobilized. Branwen, having missed in her first effort, stabbed at Walter again, but Thomas caught her wrist just in time.
And Rhys – Rhys was clutching at his chest, sinking slowly onto the cave floor, his robe like a soft grey cloud around him. His staff lay on the ground at his side.
“Rhys!” Meredith was on her knees, supporting him, his head on her shoulder. Grey eyes looked into hers one last time and then closed. She felt the breath go out of him. Her ears were ringing, her heart was pounding with a great, tearing pain, as the world she had known for seven years collapsed around her. “No! Rhys!”
Thomas was there, kneeling on Rhys’s other side, touching his friend’s thin, still hand. Tears trickled down Thomas’s cheeks. He made no effort to brush them away.
“Walter,” Brian said through clenched teeth, releasing him and pushing him toward the cave entrance, “Leave this place now, or by God, I swear I will kill you.”
“Meredith, is he…?” Branwen could not finish the sentence. She stood with the dagger forgotten in her hand, staring down at Rhys, looking as though the life had gone out of her, too. Meredith nodded, unable to speak. Walter’s silky voice grated on her overwrought nerves.
“It was only an old man,” Walter said. “He had already lived overlong by the look of him.”
“You killed him!” Thomas screamed. He flew at Walter, fists pounding at the tall man’s midriff. “You killed my friend. I hate you, I hate you.”
“Friend?” Walter caught Thomas’ wrists, holding him in a firm grip. “This villein can have been no friend of yours, Thomas. Remember who you are.”
“Thomas is right,” Branwen said, now turning on Walter. “You killed Rhys.”
“He died of fright,” Walter said. “I never touched him. The old man couldn’t stand to see a naked sword.”
“I swear to you,” Branwen responded, drawing herself up proudly, “I do here make my vow: You, Norman, will pay for what you have done, if it cost me my own life.”
“Have a care, wench.” Walter glared at her over Thomas’s golden head. He still held the struggling boy by the wrists. “The law has punishment aplenty for a villein who draws a blade against a Norman knight. Make no more threats against me or I’ll see you dead, too.”
“Walter,”
Brian said again, “get out.”
“Gladly.” Walter grimaced at him. “Stay with your own kind, Welshman. You obviously prefer them. I’ll just take my future stepson with me.”
“No.” Thomas’ struggles became even more frantic. “You are a wicked man, Walter fitz Alan. I won’t go with you. I’m going to stay here with my friends.”
“Thomas.” Meredith rose from Rhys’s side at last and went to the boy. She had to do something to protect him from Walter’s anger, and his mother’s, for she had no doubt Isabel would be furious with her son when she heard where he had been. Walter was sure to tell her. “Thomas, go back to Afoncaer with Sir Walter. You must tell Lord Guy that Rhys is dead. He will want to know. Do this for us, Thomas. Carry our message and then place yourself under your uncle’s personal protection.”
It took all of Meredith’s self-control to speak politely to Walter when she wanted to fly at him as Thomas had done, but out of her love and concern for Thomas she accomplished it.
“Sir Walter, please let Thomas go. I’m sure you understand he is only upset and meant you no real harm.” She was relieved when Walter pushed the boy away from him and stalked out of the cave without a backward glance.
Thomas threw himself into Meredith’s arms and burst into tears. She held him gently, her own eyes overflowing, soothing him until the sobs stopped. Then she lifted his tear-stained face and kissed him on the forehead.
“Go back to Afoncaer,” she said, smoothing down his ruffled hair. “There is nothing more you can do for Rhys.”
“When my mother’s servant Agnes died,” Thomas said, trying to control his trembling lower lip, “Rhys told me to remember her with love. That is how I’ll remember Rhys, too.” With one last glance at Rhys’s still form, he left the cave.
“Will he be all right with that beast of a Norman?” Branwen asked.
“Yes,” Brian assured her. “Walter is still bound to Guy until his wedding day, and the boy is his future wife’s son. Thomas is safe enough, for now.”
“We have to bury Rhys,” Meredith said, her voice dull with grief.
“Shall I get the priest?” Brian asked, then corrected himself. “No, of course not, he wasn’t Christian. We’ll do it ourselves, then, and right away, since it’s high summer.”
“Thank you for helping us.” Branwen said, and rested her head on Brian’s shoulder for a time before she pulled herself together and, as Rhys’s only living relative, took charge of the arrangements. They were simple enough. In this Norman-ruled place, there was no point in summoning people to the kind of funeral that once would have been accorded to a Wise Man such as Rhys had been. Branwen left the cave and went to a man she knew to tell him what had happened and to send him to spread the news of Rhys’s death. A few men and women appeared to stand at the graveside.
They wrapped Rhys in his long grey cloak and laid him in the grave that Brian had dug. Branwen said the ancient words she remembered. Neither Meredith nor Branwen nor Brian felt it strange that they three, all raised as Christians, should participate in such a ceremony. Rhys’s goodness had transcended all barriers. They had just finished their sad business and the other mourners had vanished into the trees when Guy found them.
“Thomas told me,” he said. He opened his arms and Meredith, forgetting how long it had been since she’d last seen him, went into them as if it were the most natural thing in the world. She let him hold her as she had held Thomas earlier.
“Thomas says Walter was responsible,” Guy said to Brian over Meredith’s bowed head. He listened while Brian explained what had happened.
“I wish,” Guy said when Brian had finished, “That I could stop this marriage between Walter and Isabel. But I have given my word to them and set my seal to a letter of agreement already sent to the earl of Chester. The wedding is next week, and those two are determined to marry.”
“I still think there is something very strange in Walter’s arrangements with Chester,” Brian muttered.
“That may be so, but you and I will consider the matter another time,” Guy said. “Meredith, Branwen, what will you do now? Will you come to live at Afoncaer? You are both welcome at the castle.”
“This is our home,” Branwen said, “If you will keep the promise you once made to us, and make your Norman warriors stay away, we shall be safe enough. I wish that Walter creature had never found us.”
“I have forbidden him the entire forest,” Guy said. “Shall I do the same to Brian?”
“Don’t make jokes over a new grave,” Branwen retorted sharply, moving away from the mound of freshly spaded earth and starting back toward the cave. “Brian is different.”
“Is he?” A faint smile lit Guy’s sad face for a moment. “Would you like me to stay away from the cave, too, Branwen?”
“Meredith would be happier if you had never come here,” Branwen told him angrily. “And Rhys might still be alive.”
“Don’t say that, Aunt,” Meredith chided, “Rhys was old and ill and had not much more time to live, and we both know it. What happened today was Walter’s fault, if it was anyone’s. But still, my lord Guy, I think it would be better if we held to our earlier agreement and did not see each other again.”
She could not meet his eyes. She ached with every fiber of her being to go into his arms once more. She was ashamed of the joy that had surged up inside her when he appeared at Rhys’s graveside. She ought to have gained better control over her emotions in the year and a half since she had been parted from him. She had not. She had been overcome with grief for the man who had been friend and teacher and substitute father to her, and yet, when she looked up and saw Guy standing before her, she had known such happiness that she wanted to sing and dance and laugh, even though Rhys lay at her feet. She was filled with confusion and shame at having those feelings at such a time, and after Guy and Brian finally left them she wept again, but whether it was for Rhys or for herself, or for them both she was not sure.
Part IV
Thomas
Wales, A.D. 1109
Chapter 26
August, AD 1105
“Guy, please let Thomas go with Walter and me to Tynant,” Isabel begged. “It would only be for a little while, just for a visit. Surely you can spare him for two weeks. He has been terribly unhappy for the last few days. He won’t say what is wrong, I can’t get a word out of him, but I suspect it has something to do with my coming marriage.”
Guy, who knew the cause of Thomas’s sorrow, which no one had divulged to Isabel, frowned at her.
“You are oddly concerned about your son at such a time,” he said. “I had expected you to be so involved with your own plans you would have no thought for his feelings. Do you really want the son of your first marriage in your new household?”
“I am not so indifferent to Thomas as you imagine,” Isabel snapped. “I can see he’s distressed. He has developed such an aversion to Walter. I suppose that’s natural. Perhaps Thomas doesn’t want me to remarry at all. I thought it might help him if he could see me happily settled in my new home and know that all is well with me. Walter says the manor house the Earl of Chester has given him is well made and spacious, and I am certain I will be content there. Let Thomas see that, and then he can return to Afoncaer with his mind at ease.”
Guy considered his sister-in-law’s request. Isabel had been remarkably pleasant in recent days. Her plans for the wedding and the feast to follow it were appropriate but not too lavish, and she had made an effort to pay extra attention to Thomas. She misunderstood the reason for Thomas’s continuing sadness – Guy knew the boy still grieved for Rhys – but Isabel’s affection and concern might help to soothe Thomas’s pain. Also, Guy reasoned, sending Thomas away from Afoncaer for a time would provide a diversion that would give him a chance to recover more quickly from Rhys’s death. Still, Guy had learned it was always better not to agree too readily with Isabel’s plans, because then she would make other, sometimes unacceptable, requests. He would ask for something in
return, to let her know she could not freely have everything she wanted.
“I will make a bargain with you,” Guy said. “I have noticed that your maid Alice does not get along at all well with Joan. Let Joan remain at Afoncaer when you go. I will need someone to manage the kitchen wenches, to see to the laundry and arrange the meals, and to keep order in the women’s quarters. Joan could easily do all of that for me. She is old enough that the other women respect her. Will you agree?”
“Gladly. Alice is a better seamstress than Joan could ever be, and she knows the latest styles from court. Let Joan stay on at Afoncaer,” Isabel said carelessly, as though Joan’s years of devoted service mattered not at all.
“Very well then,” Guy said. “In return for this favor to me, I will allow Thomas to go with you to Tÿnant, but only for two weeks. After that, I will need him here again.”
“Oh, Guy,” Isabel flung her arms around him. “Thank you. You have been so wonderful to me. I know I have been a trial to you, but you can’t know how unhappy I have been.”
“I have some idea,” Guy said wryly, marveling at the change in Isabel. Then she smiled at him with feverish intensity, and in his heart Guy questioned just how happy she was over her proposed marriage. Perhaps it was not love for Walter after all, but the desire to leave Afoncaer that drove Isabel. At least he would be rid of her, he reflected. Her going would leave Afoncaer a more peaceful place, and with the intelligent and even-tempered Joan taking over most of Isabel’s former duties, he could manage well enough.
As for himself, he needed no wife. A gently bred lady would only be as unhappy at Afoncaer as Isabel had been and would make him permanently miserable. This border area was a rough, man’s land. He would live in it alone.
The wedding day was wet and windy. In early morning the bridal party splashed across the inner bailey through mud and puddles of water to the freshly consecrated stone chapel that had replaced the old wooden building. There the marriage contract was read and signed, after which Father Herbert said Mass. Then they trooped back through the rain to the great hall, where the population of Afoncaer, both castle and village, waited for the wedding feast to begin.