Simon’s eyes glittered. “If I should be caught by the king’s attack in Richard’s company, I hope you will not be angry with me if I lend him my aid.”
“One must support one’s host,” Llewelyn replied with spurious gravity. “I will no doubt remonstrate with you for your thoughtlessness in visiting your old lord’s brother at such an unsettled time, but I imagine I will forgive you. The young are thoughtless, and one cannot expect too much foresight or self-control from them.”
“Perhaps, my lord, knowing that Richard’s brother was my old master and that I would be interested in the subject, you might have commented to me on the situation, especially as it affects Gwynedd?”
At that innocent question, Llewelyn laughed aloud. “If I had, I would have remarked that it is very unwise for foreign troops to come into Wales—north or south. It excites the rapacity of a people who are very poor, especially young men who see a chance to enrich themselves with goods that are not under their lord’s protection. Unless that lord’s protection should be sought specifically, there is little to hold them back. More than that, I cannot say at this time.”
Although he was somewhat disappointed not to have a clearer commitment to bring to Richard, Simon had to accept that. He was, after all, only a messenger. He was neither of an age nor of sufficient rank to offer counsel to Prince Llewelyn, and he did not allow his head to be swelled by the fact that Llewelyn sometimes seemed to ask for his advice. It was more likely that his lord was testing his wisdom and loyalty than that he needed or wanted advice. Therefore, Simon accepted the dismissal inherent in Llewelyn’s words.
“I will take my leave then, my lord. I must first ride to Krogen for men. You will find me there this night if you wish to give me further orders.”
“Do not raise expectations I cannot fulfill,” Llewelyn said with a sharp, admonitory glance.
“No, my lord, I will not,” Simon promised, and bowed and strode away.
He stopped briefly to tell a manservant to warn Siorl, his headman, to be ready to ride out in an hour, and then went to the women’s hall where he asked for Rhiannon. She came out to him herself, walking carefully, the protests of the healing woman who had been tending her drifting behind her. Simon swept her up into his arms and carried her into the garden where they could have a little privacy.
“Simon,” she protested, “you will make more enemies than you need.”
“I will not be here to face them,” he remarked indifferently, “and I cannot believe anyone has not heard of how I brought you home. Does that not give me the right to bid you farewell when I must go?”
“You are going to Pembroke?”
“To Krogen for men.”
“Then it is to be war?”
“Not for certain,” he soothed, setting her down on a bench near the herb beds. “I am only taking a meinie large enough to be safe when traveling through an area likely to be infested with hostile bands snatching up whatever they can find. Foreign mercenaries are not overscrupulous in whom or what they seize.”
Rhiannon’s green eyes observed him with grave disbelief. Her lips curved with amusement, but worry wrinkled her brow. “That sounds very much like something my father would say when he wished to explain a war party where no war was yet declared.”
Simon could not help laughing at her perception. “It may smack of that, indeed, but I know Richard does not desire a war against King Henry. He is not a rebel, he swears, and only desires justice. He will not attack the king’s forces—”
“But he will defend himself, I suppose,” Rhiannon interrupted, “and you will help him.” She shook her head and sighed. “Never mind, I have heard all the words already. It is far to Krogen, and I must not keep you. Go with God, and with the blessings of Anu and Danu also, Simon. I will pray for your safety.”
“And I for yours, my lady. Rhiannon, you will go home to Kicva, will you not?”
“Yes, as soon as I can ride with comfort.” She gave him her hand. “When you can come, you will find a welcome there.”
Holding her hand, Simon bent forward and kissed her. After a moment, he pulled back with a sigh. Without saying any more, he lifted her again and carried her back to the entrance of the women’s hall, setting her carefully on her feet.
“Fare thee well, Simon,” she said softly, using the tender, intimate pronoun she had never offered him before.
“And thou also, my lady. Take care of thy well-being. Thou hast in thy keeping my heart, and ill will befall me if it be lost.”
“Simon—” she cried, but he had turned and walked quickly away. “I do not desire that burden,” Rhiannon whispered, but there was no one to hear and she knew the protest was useless.
She had spoken without thinking and had given him by her use of thee a hope she should not have offered. It did not matter, she told herself. There was no way to prevent Simon from loving her except by making herself too foul for him to love. That was not a path she contemplated. Fiercely she reminded herself that she had warned him repeatedly that she was not responsible for either what he wanted or how he felt. Nonetheless, Mallt’s dead body and Madog’s outlawry reproached her for carelessness and thoughtlessness. It was useless to say that she had meant no harm or that Mallt and Madog were worthless. She had been thoughtless and careless with Simon, too, and he certainly was not worthless.
Rhiannon sighed, hobbling cautiously back to her bed to rest. For the meantime, Simon’s heart would be quite safe with her, and she would be firmer and more careful when he came to the hall—if indeed he came to the hall. Rhiannon wished she could be as certain of his body’s safety as she could be of his heart’s.
Chapter Eleven
Simon and his few archers had no trouble reaching Krogen keep. Llewelyn’s men were out in the woods watching, but they recognized Simon’s colors during the day. In the night the calls and countercalls, which unknowing persons would take for those of night birds, marked the travelers as friends. Krogen keep was the best-manned of Simon’s holds, and was managed by Bifan ap Arnalt, who was fanatically faithful to Simon. When Simon had gone for fostering to William, Earl of Pembroke, Bifan went as his servant-guardian, and a powerful bond had been forged between them. Now he held Krogen, the most sensitively placed and strongest of Simon’s properties, and Simon never needed to give a thought to its security.
When Simon left the next morning, fifty men-at-arms followed him. They were the best in the keep, expert trackers able to fade into virtual invisibility in the thinnest cover, skilled with the longbow, and in addition, unlike many Welshmen, trained to fight on horseback and armed for defending the walls of a keep. Simon was not concerned about stripping so many from Krogen’s roster. Bifan would call in some veterans who had been settled on the land around Krogen if he needed them; meanwhile, he would choose and train some new young men.
The news Simon had from Richard included the information that the king had moved his army northwest from Gloucester to Hereford. Simon had debated taking the most direct route from Krogen to Usk, hoping he would have the satisfaction of encountering some of Henry’s patrols and foreriders. Bifan eyed him coldly and remarked on how pleased Henry would be to hear of one of Llewelyn’s men carrying messages to Pembroke. There was, of course, no certainty that such a deduction could be made from the mere facts of recognizing Simon and knowing he was riding south, but the remark was enough to remind Simon that he was not about his own business but on a mission for his overlord.
They took the slower route, west along the valley of the Ceiriog River, then climbed the goat trails over the mountains to the Iwrch, which they followed southeast until it joined the Tanai. They had to backtrack along the Tanai to the long vale that led to Llanfyllin and then eastward to the Vrynwy. Here, although they had come only about twenty-five miles from Krogen, they stopped and camped. The terrain was so rugged that, even in the river valleys, they had more often led their horses than ridden them. And, with backing and winding around obstacles, the real distance was nearly
doubled.
It was, for a wonder, a lovely night, clear and with just a bare hint of the coming chill of autumn. Usually, Simon thought, staring contentedly up at the stars, if there was no shelter to be had and sleeping out was a necessity, it poured rain for spite. Tonight, however, was like a benison, a peaceful promise of a good future. He had been too much on the alert on the way to Krogen and too busy while there to permit himself to think of Rhiannon, but now he reviewed their parting and was well satisfied.
It had come just at the right time. If he had remained in Aber and Rhiannon had remained also, he would not have dared let her out of his sight. In that case, he knew quite well that she would have won the contest of wills. Unable to work off his lust elsewhere and with Rhiannon only too eager to satisfy him, he could not have resisted her for long.
Simon chuckled softly. He would win her yet. Her softness to him in parting was no result of any desire of the body. That was her heart speaking. And he had done well to resist his own wish to linger near her and see her once more before he rode away. Wild as she was, she would have seen the pit into which she was slipping and hardened her heart to escape it.
Rhiannon o yr adar, Rhiannon of the Birds—had Kicva known when the child was born what she would be? Simon did not fear Kicva, although he realized she was worth fearing and that some might have good reason to fear her. Her eyes were always kind when they rested on him, but he was sure they could read the soul within. Kicva, he thought, knew him better than his father or mother. Yet she was willing for him to have Rhiannon. She knew, if Rhiannon did not, that he would never try to tame or cage that wild bird. No, Rhiannon must tame herself, must come to rest willingly on the strong tree of his love.
He smiled into the darkness. Blessed Richard, blessed messenger, who arrived at so perfect a moment. Fear would tame his wild bird. She would worry and wonder and that would keep her thinking about him. And thinking about him would increase her desire. Simon chuckled again, then sighed. It would have been even better if she was promised to him. Then he could have written to her to tell her he was safe and well and she would not have worried. Simon did not relish the thought of any shadow on Rhiannon’s happiness, not even if the shadow was fear for him. Of course, from a different viewpoint, Simon was amused by the idea that Rhiannon should fear for him. He could not see that there was anything to fear in a pleasant little war.
At dawn he was rousing the men, urging them into the saddle. Breaking their fast—hard cheese and wine from the small skins each man carried—could be done while riding. Simon was eager to bring the news of Llewelyn’s sympathy to Richard, though he was sorry he could not say Llewelyn was willing to call up men and join him. But Richard probably had never hoped for that. He would be much cheered, Simon knew, by the one guarantee Llewelyn was willing to give—he had promised not to join with or aid the king in any way. And as a tender of his good faith in that direction, he had loosed his raiding parties to prey on Henry’s army.
The land was gentler and they made better time down one river valley and into another until they came to the Wye. Then overland to Aberhanddu and southeast along to Usk to Pembroke’s keep. That took only three days more, although it was nearly dawn when they finally came to the castle overlooking the river. Naturally enough, the guards would not open the gates at that time of night, and there was a shouting match. Simon won it, but only at the cost of having the earl himself dragged from his bed.
“God in heaven,” Richard growled, “could you not wait two hours? Is your news so urgent?”
“I am very sorry,” Simon said meekly. “No, it is not. I just lost my temper. We have been riding all night, and I am tired.”
“So am I,” Richard said pointedly, and then, “If your news is not urgent, why the haste?”
“I wanted to be sure to be here before any attack, in case the king should, for once, move faster than a snail.”
“Attack? What the devil do you mean? Henry is as far north as Hereford—” Richard’s voice checked as he saw Simon’s expression. “Do you know different?”
“I heard…we came across a huntsman of Rhys Ievanc, who told us that the king was moving south again, but—”
“You did not think that urgent news?” Richard snapped.
“I did not know it would be news to you, my lord,” Simon exclaimed.
“What else did he say?”
“No more than that. I asked, but he had little interest in the matter since his home lies north and well west. He had followed a boar too far and come upon a hunting party that had also been led too far by their quarry. Naturally he listened around their camp when he saw they were English, but as soon as he was sure there was no danger to his own people, he left. Do you want me to send out a few of my men?”
“No, we are ready for anything. I was only surprised that…never mind.”
Simon did not need an explanation. Richard was surprised and disturbed by the fact that whoever had been sending him information about the king’s movements had failed to transmit this very essential news. There might be many reasons, only one of which was a deliberate betrayal, and obviously Richard did not wish to taint his informer’s name before he was sure of the cause of the failure.
They had been walking from the gate toward the inner keep. Richard had stopped when Simon mentioned the king’s movement but now he went on, silent and frowning until they climbed the stairs and came into the hall. Here, picking his way carefully among the sleeping bodies, the earl gestured Simon toward the hearth, where the banked embers gave a gentle warmth that was pleasant in the damp chill generated by the thick, stone walls.
“You may as well empty the budget now, since I am awake already,” Richard said.
“Yes, my lord. This news is good, although not the best.” Simon went on to state Llewelyn’s promise not to oppose Richard and to describe his interest in an active alliance—eventually. His reluctance had nothing to do with the cause or any doubt of Richard, Simon pointed out, but he could not commit himself until he could make at least a temporary truce with his neighbors. “I do not think that will be difficult,” Simon concluded. “They will wish to hold aloof until they see which side is the more powerful. Then they will leap on the weaker to share the spoils.”
Richard shuddered slightly. “Truce or no truce?” he asked.
“Certainly,” Simon said cheerfully. “A truce with estraid—I beg your pardon, I have been speaking only Welsh for some days to my men. A truce with foreigners has no validity to begin with, and even with other Cymry…they can always find an old feud—or two or three or more—that had been forgotten and precluded in making the truce in the first place.”
“You think that is funny?” Richard asked, amazed at the tone of Simon’s voice. “How can you trust such people?”
“But everyone knows the rules of the game,” Simon protested somewhat surprised by the earl’s distress. “I do not know how to explain,” he continued earnestly. “They are not dishonorable. They simply have a code that is different from ours. There are ways to bind them to each other with words—if they really wish—and such bonds will be kept with no regard for cost. If you—an estraid—need to be sure of good faith, you must take a hostage, and you must treat that hostage with honor. If you do not—”
“God forbid that I should have so great a need of Welsh support,” Richard exclaimed. “And what the devil does your message from Llewelyn mean, if—”
“No, no,” Simon hastened to say. “I did not mean you to include Prince Llewelyn. He has had long experience with your father and your brother and my father, of course. He will fulfill with exactness any agreement he makes with you because he knows a failure will prohibit any future agreement at all. Indeed, my lord, that is why he has been so chary of making any promise of assistance to you at this time.”
“You are his vassal and love him, and you wish to marry his daughter,” Richard said, frowning in perplexity.
“I am also my father’s son,” Simon pointed out, his voic
e suddenly cold. “If you do not trust me, I will call my men and go, having delivered my message.”
Richard raised a hand and covered his eyes. “Sorry, Simon, that was not meant for you. I am sick at heart, that is all. I know I am doing wrong, and yet to do otherwise would be an even greater wrong. The world is black to me now, and everyone I look upon is smirched with my own dishonor.”
“You have done no wrong,” Simon cried. “My lord, you must stand fast or we will all be slaves.”
“Yet I gave fealty to Henry. How am I better than those—”
“My father says King Henry is possessed, is sick,” Simon interrupted. “He has known the king from a babe and says this is not his will or his spirit, that the Bishop of Winchester has infected him with evil notions. It is Winchester and Seagrave and those evil councilors you are standing against. Freed of them, King Henry will return to reason and you may return to your duty.”
“That is what I tell myself.” Richard sighed, dropping his hand. “Well,” he went on, “so you advise me to trust in Lord Llewelyn’s promises.”
“Yes, and even without an alliance he will be of great service to you. Until now he has forbidden his men to raid English land because he did not wish to give Winchester an enemy to point at so that men’s eyes would be turned away from his iniquities. Now he has lifted that prohibition with regard to foreigners on Welsh soil.”
“Would that not apply to me as well as to Henry in the opinion of most of Llewelyn’s men?” Richard asked wryly.
Simon grinned. “Perhaps, but you need not worry about it. They will not assault your keeps. They have not the means and they are not fools. Why should they try to crack a nut they know will break their teeth when plenty of sweet meat is lying about loose? They will prey on Henry’s baggage trains.” He paused and frowned. “I do not say any of them—not even Prince Llewelyn—loves you. They do not wish to do you good, only to enrich or protect themselves. Why should you care? If Henry’s army begins to starve and the men are too busy watching over their shoulders for raids to give full attention to Usk keep, Llewelyn and his men will have served you as well as if they were your devoted servants.”
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