Rhiannon

by Roberta Gellis

  It was disappointing when Mallt appeared outside the stockade and walked quickly toward the wood. Her presence would complicate matters. Simon wanted no witnesses to what he would do to Madog, but as his fear and anger grew, he cared less and less about anything except laying his hands on the man. Then for a few minutes he thought he would need to silence Mallt before he could get at Madog. She seemed to be coming directly toward him; however, she stopped just inside the trees and looked around.

  At the edge of the clearing the trees were widely spaced and the brush had been cut away by Llewelyn’s order to prevent men from concealing themselves there for a surprise attack. Farther back there was no need to remove the brush. Little grew where the treetops met, and the ground was deeply shaded.

  Mallt idled on the periphery, watching for Madog across the open field while Simon tried to decide whether to seize and silence her or not. Either way she was a nuisance. If he grabbed her, she might cry out and warn Madog, or if Madog did not see her waiting, he might not come to where Simon could spot him. If he let her be, she would doubtless run back to Aber screaming for help, but the latter seemed the least serious. Simon was sure he could subdue Madog and drag him away somewhere more private before Mallt could bring assistance.

  Because he could not permit himself to think of Rhiannon, Simon fixed his attention on Mallt and on the southern edge of the stockade where he expected to see Madog appear at any moment. He had not stopped to put on his armor, but Madog was not—or had not been—wearing armor either, and he probably did not own a hauberk of steel. Simon drew his sword and held it naked in one hand, his knife in the other. Madog would not escape him, armed or not.

  Simon’s fixity of purpose nearly undid him. While he stared in one direction, Madog appeared from the west with the silent stealth of the Welsh hunter-warrior. In a flash, he seized Mallt by the arm and drew her backward a few feet. As she began to protest, he stabbed her in the heart.

  Simon gasped with outrage and sprang from his concealment. In any other circumstances his sense of honor would have demanded that he give Madog a chance to draw his own weapons and defend himself, but a woman-killer did not merit such courtesy. In fact, if Simon had not needed to learn what Madog had done with Rhiannon, he would have grabbed him by the hair and cut his throat, as one slaughters a noxious animal. Besides, a cut throat was too sweet and easy a death. Simon was sure now that Madog had killed Rhiannon. He planned a long, very long and painful, excruciatingly painful death for Madog.

  When Simon leapt out from behind the trees and charged at him, Madog was so startled that he screamed like a woman and turned to run. He was not usually a greater coward than any other man, although he was certainly no hero, but too many incomprehensible things had happened to him over the past two days. Terror so unhinged him, however, that he forgot the dead woman at his feet, and he stumbled over her body and fell. That was the stroke that finished him. He lay on his face, screaming and whimpering and begging for mercy.

  More because he was nauseated by Madog’s behavior than because he feared the man would try to resist, Simon brought the hilt of his knife down sharply on Madog’s head. The whimpers and cries stopped abruptly. Simon pulled Madog’s sword from its sheath and tossed it well away. Then, since he had not expected to need to restrain anyone, he pulled off Madog’s cross garters and used one to tie his hands firmly behind his back and the other to form a noose around his neck. As long as Madog was quiet, the noose would lie open. The moment he tried to run or resist, it would tighten and choke him.

  Simon then stood and began to slap Madog’s face with the flat of his sword. He was not overcareful of just how he held the weapon, so now and again the edge cut. However, he had not hit Madog very hard and a few strokes were enough to bring him fully conscious.

  “Where is Lady Rhiannon?” Simon asked quietly.

  “I do not know!” Madog wailed, shaking with fear.

  Simon smiled. “Would you prefer to lose your right ear or your left ear first?” he inquired.

  “You would not dare,” Madog quavered.

  For answer, Simon swiftly put his heel on Madog’s throat, pinning his chin with the ball of his foot, and in one swift motion sliced off his right ear. Madog’s first scream was so loud that Simon began to fear a guard at Aber would hear him, but the solution was simple. Simon merely pulled the noose so tight that Madog’s screams were strangled. He then tucked his sword under one arm, grasped the man’s sword belt, and began to drag him behind the thick clump of trees in which he had hidden, where the sound would be muffled and distorted. Then he dropped him, inserted his sword under the knot, and loosened the noose.

  Before Madog could get enough breath to begin to scream again, Simon said pleasantly, “Now you know I am in earnest. I will ask you again what you have done with Lady Rhiannon. I will take your left ear next, then your balls, then a finger at a time. You do not need to worry about bleeding to death, you know. I will make a fire and heat my knife and sear your wounds so that you will live.” He paused a moment and then added bleakly, “I will be very, very careful that you live.”

  Tears ran down Madog’s face mingling with the blood, and he shook his head mutely from side to side. In his first shock and terror he had not believed Simon could know he had anything to do with Rhiannon, and for a moment more he believed that if he still claimed ignorance after losing an ear, Simon would believe him. However, when he saw Simon lift his foot to secure his head for the removal of his other ear, he understood that Simon knew for certain what he had done. The “witch” or her familiar had somehow informed against him.

  “I will show you,” he screamed. “I did not kill her. I did not even hurt her.”

  In that moment Simon almost lost his prisoner. Relief at hearing that Rhiannon was still alive struck him like a physical blow. He turned pale and his hand loosened on the noose that held Madog. Utter desperation lent the man more swiftness and perception than was natural to him. He rolled over, stumbled to his feet, jerking the noose out of Simon’s lax fingers, and started to run. The attempt did not succeed. In ten strides Simon had caught up with him and put his foot on the trailing noose, throwing him to the ground.

  Madog screamed again and lashed out with his feet as Simon bent to retrieve the noose, but Simon merely grabbed the cross garter higher up and pressed the point of his sword into Madog’s neck—but not hard enough to draw blood. The unspoken threat turned Madog’s screams into whimpers mixed with assurances that Rhiannon was unharmed.

  “If I find her alive and unhurt,” Simon said, “I will do no worse to you.”

  “Will you let me go?” Madog pleaded.

  “I cannot do that,” Simon replied. “Do you think I have forgotten that you murdered Mallt? However, that is no affair of mine. Whether you are punished at all and what your punishment will be is Lord Llewelyn’s business. Now get to your feet and take me to Lady Rhiannon without more talk, or I will begin again where I left off with you.”

  “I will die anyway,” Madog wept. “She is a witch. She cursed me.”

  “You are an idiot,” Simon responded in a disgusted voice, prodding Madog ahead with his sword. “Lady Rhiannon is no witch. She has no power of cursing. Now bring me to her at once. And do not think to lead me around in circles. Whatever happened to my lady took no more than the time from early dawn to the time of breaking our fast—where I saw you. If you do not find her in half that time, I will have your manhood off instead of your ear. You deserve it for laying a hand upon her.”

  Madog plunged ahead, knowing that Simon would not repeat his threat but would carry it out. Simon’s face was as rigid as that of a corpse and his eyes were terrible. That, Madog thought, was the will of the witch. For that reason he made no attempt to delay but found the path Mallt and Rhiannon had taken that morning. They went much more quickly than the women had because Mallt had slowed progress as much as she could. A few minutes’ swift walking brought them to the place where Madog had attacked Rhiannon—a patch whe
re the earth, twigs, and dry leaves were scuffed and disturbed.

  Here Madog hesitated and turned his maimed head toward Simon. “You are ensorcelled,” he whispered. “That is how you know what I did and why you did not hear her curse me. You were right there beside her in the cove. Do you not remember?”

  Simon burst into bitter laughter. “Idiot! Dolt! How could she curse you even if she was a witch? Neither of us knew who was there. My horse scented you. I tell you Lady Rhiannon has no power of cursing. She was afraid, that was all, and cried out what she thought would protect us. And I knew what you had done because I heard you talking with Mallt. Now go ahead.”

  Madog did not dare disobey and started to move off the path in the direction he had carried Rhiannon, but he whimpered, “She did curse me. I felt it. I could not eat and my breath choked in my throat…”

  “You are twenty times a fool,” Simon raged. “You feared the effect of a curse and felt the effect of your fear.” He prodded Madog harder. “Quick, before I lose my patience and give you a reason to move more swiftly.”

  The grimness of Simon’s voice warned Madog to hesitate no longer, and Simon’s conviction made Madog begin to wonder whether he had not jumped too fast to a conclusion about Rhiannon, misled by Mallt. He was not sure; he still felt Rhiannon was a witch—she was so strange—but perhaps she had not cursed him. In any case, his fate at Simon’s hands seemed far more certain than his fate at Rhiannon’s, and he hurried along the way he had carried her. He was terrified that he would lose his way, for he had been careful not to break branches or step on soft ground, but his hunter’s eye had unconsciously marked a lightning-riven tree here and a dead, oddly gnarled one there, as when he cached a kill too heavy to carry back alone. Spurred by panic, he found his way almost without a single hesitation to the great fallen log.

  “There on the other side,” he gasped, shaking with terror because he did not know whether to hope or to fear that Rhiannon was dead. Either way, Madog knew he would suffer.

  Simon could not endure to waste even the few moments it would take to tie Madog securely, and he did not dare try to control him at the same time that he released Rhiannon. Madog had not said how he had secured her, but Simon did not need to be told that she was bound or chained. If she had not somehow been imprisoned, she would have made her way back to Aber. Perhaps there were even others in the plot. They might have been warned by Madog’s voice and their incautious approach and be hidden, ready to attack.

  “Go around,” Simon urged, and when Madog bent to climb over the trunk, he hit him good and hard on the head with the flat of his sword.

  As Madog fell, Simon dropped the noose and leapt over the log. He let out a roar of rage when he did not see Rhiannon, and turned toward the unconscious man. Even as he did so, his eye caught the disturbed earth around the hollow under the fallen tree. A less cursory glance showed the trail where Rhiannon had pushed herself along the ground. For a minute or two Simon could not see anymore. Tears of relief had flooded his eyes. Despite Madog’s assurances that he had not harmed Rhiannon, Simon feared he would find her dead, that the man had only been buying a few minutes more of life with his lies. The fact that there was a trail, that Rhiannon was not immediately to be seen in the vicinity, was proof that she had strength enough to escape.

  Shakily, Simon knelt to examine the ground with care. Then he sighed with relief again. There was no sign of blood. Probably Rhiannon had not been stabbed. The exertion of getting out of the hollow and humping herself along the ground was considerable. Any wound would have bled. Simon glanced toward Madog, but the man had not moved at all. Then Simon realized Rhiannon could not have escaped in that slow, painful manner if anyone had been guarding her.

  Simon knew quite well that he should now bind Madog’s feet and secure him to a tree, but he could not bear to waste the time. If he did not find Rhiannon in the next few minutes, he told himself, he would return. Just now, finding her was more important.

  “Rhiannon,” he shouted, “it is Simon. Where are you? Can you hear me? It is Simon.”

  Chapter Ten

  When Rhiannon dropped into the black pool of unconsciousness, her body reacted automatically to satisfy its needs. Relieved of the panic of her conscious mind, she began to breathe more easily. By the time Madog spotted the fallen tree, she was conscious. Fortunately, the first thing of which she became aware, after her realization that she was not smothering, was the jolting discomfort of being carried. Full memory of what had happened and that she was tied hand and foot followed. Rhiannon realized she was being abducted.

  As far as Rhiannon knew, she had not an enemy in the world; the only reason she could grasp at was that she might have been taken for ransom. Her father was fond of her, and her mother loved her dearly. Either one would pay ransom for her. However, if she had been abducted for ransom, Rhiannon knew she would not be harmed.

  Soon after this hopeful idea took hold of her, Rhiannon felt herself set down on the ground. She listened intently but could make little of what she heard because the cloth over her head muffled the sounds around her. One thing became relatively sure, however. She had been taken by only one person. At this moment, Rhiannon was convulsed by a combination of rage and embarrassment. She, to be taken in so obvious a snare. No, Mallt and her partner would make no profit. Rhiannon resolved she would escape if it was the last thing she did.

  When Madog tumbled Rhiannon into the hollow under the log, she was briefly frightened until she realized it was not deep enough to be a grave. She managed to roll onto her stomach with her face inward, and it was soon clear that her abductor was taking great care not to pack dirt over her face. Striving for patience, in case the man was waiting to see whether she would try to escape, Rhiannon counted to one thousand slowly. Then she could wait no longer. She had to rid herself of the discomfort of the gag.

  Rhiannon dropped her chin as far as she could and pushed with her tongue. At last she slid the thong over her lower lip. Setting her teeth so that it could not slip back into her mouth, she began to rub her cheek against the ground to push the thong over her chin. As she worked, Rhiannon began to feel cool, damp earth on the back of her neck. That meant that she had managed to lift the cloth as well as push down the thong that tied it around her head. With renewed vigor she began to scrape the cloth downward and forward. Finally, when she lifted her head, the cloth fell away completely.

  Although Rhiannon’s neck and back ached from the peculiar, confined movements, she was so thrilled by her success that she did not pause a moment before turning us much as she could to her side, bending her knees, and feeling with her feet for a solid surface. This was not far to seek, for the trunk of the tree curved into the ground immediately adjacent to the hollow in which she lay. Bracing her feet, she straightened her knees. There was resistance at her back where Madog had packed earth and dead leaves around her, but several strong pushes with legs made very powerful by years of coursing game forced the blockage aside. Rhiannon’s head and shoulders emerged from the hollow.

  It was extremely difficult, Rhiannon found, to balance when one’s feet were tied together and one’s hands were bound. She had discovered this while she was levering herself upright against a tree. Having spared a moment to listen and be assured that no one had noticed her partial escape, she chose a level spot and jumped. Landing safely but painfully on her turned ankle, she balanced herself, looked for another spot, and jumped again.

  At first her eagerness and anxiety grew with each foot of progress. Because success seemed within her grasp, she feared more acutely that her abductor would return to snatch it away from her. She began to choose landing places farther and farther apart. At last she overestimated her ability and fell. The bruises were painful, the disappointment and effort needed to regain her feet more so. It was clearly impossible for her to get far enough away to elude pursuers in this manner. Moreover, she was leaving a trail that a blind man could follow. Thus, it would be better to find a sharp or rough enough roc
k on which she could rub her hands free.

  This was less easily done than said. The soil of the forest was rocky enough, but years of blown soil and fallen leaves obscured any but the largest stones. These, moreover, were smoothed by millennia of wind and rain. The only place a sharp-edged rock might be found was in a stream, where the freshets of spring tumbled stones over each other so hard that they cracked or tore rough rocks from the earth of the banks.

  Biting her lips to keep back useless tears of frustration, Rhiannon turned back toward the tiny stream that ran by the fallen tree where she had been concealed. Painfully, carefully, she hopped along on her bound feet, feeling them grow deader and deader as time passed. Her heart sank with each moment. The movement was keeping some life in her feet, but her hands were dead already. Even if she found a stone, how would she be able to draw her arms across it when she could not feel where her hands were?

  Panic seized Rhiannon. Frantically she hopped back toward the stream she had—just as frantically—hopped away from when she first escaped. Panic then engendered carelessness, and she fell again. This time she lay weeping for some time, too hurt and too frightened to struggle further. Her head ached, her whole body ached, as much with fatigue as with her bruises. Hopeless, weeping, Rhiannon slipped where she lay into the deep sleep of physical exhaustion.

  Dimly, after a long time, a dream voice called to her, It is Simon. Can you hear me? but her dream was of captivity and pursuit and treachery, and she whimpered softly, afraid even in her sleep to respond to that seductive hope of safety.