Rhiannon

by Roberta Gellis

  Richard did not like what he said. Simon could see that in his face. He was accustomed to spoken and sworn alliances, not to these negative, roundabout benefits. Sometimes sworn partners were no more reliable than the ephemeral Welsh, but you could curse them with a clean heart. The only safe path, to Richard’s mind, was to assume they would give no help at all. Still, Simon knew them well and, although young, had shown more than once that he was no fool. He said Llewelyn would act.

  “When would such help as Llewelyn’s men will give me begin?”

  “I should imagine Henry’s army has already been well stung. Ievanc’s man said they were over the border, and, anyway, the raiding parties often claim more land for Wales than was ever truly ruled by the Cymry. The raiding parties would have reached the army before I came here. They are on foot and able to travel quicker.”

  “On foot? Quicker than riding?” Disbelief was clear in Richard’s voice. “And what could they do against armed and mounted knights?”

  Simon opened his mouth to laugh, then reminded himself that Richard was not being stupid. Because he had spent nearly all of his adult life in France, Richard really did not know.

  “They run up the mountains and across the ridges where no horse can go,” Simon said patiently. “My men and I came down the river valleys, more than two hundred miles, perhaps nearer to three hundred. For them it will be little over one hundred. As to what they can do against knights, it is more a question of what the knights can do against them. This is no formal, open challenge on a clear plain. The attacks will be made when a group passes through a heavily wooded area or through a narrow ravine. They will cut off the guards with a hail of arrows, drive away the horses, carts, and oxen, and disappear into the hills or woods again.” Simon sighed. “I wish I could be with them.”

  “You have been too long among the Welsh,” Richard growled, appalled by such tactics and Simon’s approval of them.

  Simon shrugged. He knew that many knights thought Welsh-type war dishonorable. But any other kind would be suicide for the numerically weaker and infinitely poorer Welsh. However, it did not seem worthwhile to argue the question, so all Simon said was, “Perhaps, but I never loved to be pent up within walls.”

  Nonetheless, Simon had little choice in the matter. In private Llewelyn had given him specific orders in addition to the oblique promises to Richard, and the oblique permission to take part in the war. Before he allied himself, Llewelyn wished to be sure that Richard was really committed to this war and would not yield at the first offer of compromise. Now Simon was not at all sure that this was true. Richard’s distress over the broken vow of fealty was very great. Simon understood; he would have felt the same and could only be grateful that his homage had been given to Llewelyn, so he had no vows to break.

  This, however, made very strong the possibility that Richard would compound with the king. Undoubtedly the earl was an honorable man and would not make any truce in which Llewelyn was not included once Llewelyn was his ally. But this was not sufficient. Llewelyn did desire the overthrow of ministers who fed Henry ideas of grandeur and absolutism, because such ideas might engulf Wales, but his nation was too poor to engage in a war that would bring no real profit and might bring a massive and disastrous retaliation. Simon was sure that the Bishop of Winchester was every bit as skillful as any Welsh princeling at finding “honorable” reasons why a truce should not be kept. Unless Richard was ready to fight until Winchester was dismissed from office, Llewelyn could not afford any formal alliance. It was thus imperative that Simon stay in Usk until Henry made his move and Richard responded to it.

  Two days later Simon’s doubt of Richard’s willingness to fight was confirmed. Word was brought to Pembroke that King Henry and his army had paused in an open valley some three miles north of Usk. Plainly they were inviting attack. Philip Bassett, a keen soldier who knew the area and was very hot against the king because of his brother, Gilbert’s, injuries, pointed out that there were several approaches to that valley. He was sure the king’s men did not know all of them, and Richard would have an advantage in both attack and, if necessary, retreat, despite the fact that he had fewer men.

  Richard listened but shook his head. “I do not know why the king is doing this. He is no soldier, I know, but he has with him men who know war as well as or better than I do.”

  “I and my men can scout the routes,” Simon offered. “We can make sure there is no trap set there now, or,” he smiled grimly, “remove the trap so that it turns to our benefit.”

  “No,” Richard said. “I do not fear a trap.” His lips twisted. “I will not raise my hand against my overlord. If he attacks me—well, then, I must defend myself, but I will commit no act of aggression against him.”

  Simon was quietly thoughtful after that. Usk was a strong keep and very well stocked for war. Around it for miles was only forest and barren fields from which all produce had been harvested. Nonetheless, all the people of the area were also in the keep. If Henry was ready to sit in front of Usk for six or eight months, Usk would be starved out. Simon did not think the king had that kind of patience or the money to pay mercenaries for so long, but it was possible. In any case, Simon did not want to be trapped with no chance of action—and that would be just what he would face if Richard refused to act and Henry determined to carry out a siege.

  Later in the day, he requested permission to take his men out to scout Henry’s army. Richard gave permission, but Simon could see he was not happy with even so minor an initiative against the king’s forces. To ease his mind, Simon promised that his party would not raid, would mark the size of the army, what engines of war were carried, and other such matters.

  “That is not really fair to your men, is it?” Richard sighed. “They are accustomed to raiding.”

  “There will be opportunity enough for them later,” Simon said, eager to get away before Richard changed his mind altogether.

  He was not concerned for his men, who were most accomplished thieves and would doubtless collect enough loot without actually raiding to make the little excursion profitable. What Simon wanted to know was whether Henry intended assault or siege, and he knew just how to get the most accurate report of Henry’s state of mind.

  Probably Richard would have had a fit if he had seen Simon when he and his men left Usk just after dark. They went afoot, and there was nothing at all to mark the knight as different from his base-born followers. All wore knee-length tunics of deerhide mottled dark and light, with chausses and shoes deliberately splotched and streaked with dirt. All had short swords—or very long hunting knives—that were meant for stabbing and slitting throats rather than for formal combat. All carried longbows and quivers filled with yardshafts and a long, dark cloak rolled tight across their shoulders, and all had well-blackened faces and hands.

  One by one they slipped through the postern. The guard saw them cross the small footbridge that spanned the moat and, before his unbelieving eyes, seemingly disappear, even though there was a well-cleared area for several hundred yards surrounding the keep. Once or twice the guard caught a flicker of movement across the open area, but he was sure that if he had not known there were fifty-one men out there, he would have assumed it was a hare or a cat or some other small animal.

  Simon’s bent body moved automatically in the slow steps and quick rushes that carried him from one shadow to another. Bifan had taught him the art when he was a child. He was not quite as proficient as his men—it was Simon whom the guard saw—but he was good enough not to endanger them, and they were as proud of him as they would have been critical of one of their own. For a Saeson he was a miracle, and they believed that only the greatest devotion to their ways and people could have permitted him to learn so well.

  Although Simon was aware of what the men thought, he no longer worried about the fond condescension with which they regarded him. Tonight in particular the silent slipping through the darkness released a well of joy in his soul. Richard’s depression was oppressive
and made the crowded conditions and restricted activities inside Usk even less palatable than usual.

  They had reached the forested stretch now and could come upright and move faster and more steadily. Still, they were silent as any other predator, circling like wolves to be sure the wind would not carry their scent. Naturally the men would not notice, but the horses and oxen might grow restless and thus give warning to guards who might be extra alert because of recent raids. In less than an hour they were on the low, wooded hill that lay northwest of the armed encampment. The moon was just rising, but its light did not yet fall into the valley. For Simon and his men the time was perfect, the low moon providing even more disturbing shadows that flickered and shifted as the breeze drove clouds across the sky.

  The field was also perfect, dotted with tall weeds, low bushes, and clumps of saplings. There was, Simon thought, cover for an army of Welsh. But there were guards in plenty too, not quite shoulder to shoulder but well within sight of each other. The little existing light gleamed fitfully on the ring-sewn leather armor they wore. Simon smiled. Such precautions surely indicated that Llewelyn’s men had been at work.

  Siorl, Simon’s captain, and the other men knew what to do. They were now fading away into the open area one at a time. From his perch on the hill, Simon could see one guard and then another tense up and call softly to his neighbors. Most often all three would take a few steps forward and peer around. Simon did not see his men slip past and around the searching groups into the camp. He hoped none of them would be carried away by temptation and steal enough to wake anyone. He had said no killing—if possible—but made no limits against stealing. Some would have stolen anyway. If he punished them for it, there would have been resentment; if he did not, respect for his orders would have diminished. Leadership was mostly the art of the possible.

  Finally there was only one man remaining. Echtor, the underleader, and Simon slipped down the hill, hugging shadows, crouching beside bushes while they chose out another path. The light breeze shook the leaves on the bush beside which Simon had paused. Closer to the perimeter of the camp, another bush was more violently agitated and a low sound like a rising wind filled the air. Simon slid sideways, hesitated, and came upright behind two saplings. He stood perfectly still, knowing that even if a guard looked directly at him, he would not notice anything. The dappled coloring of his garments, broken by the thin trunks and branches and sparse leaves of the saplings, would convince the guard that he was looking between the young trees at the shade-mottled clearing behind.

  Again the fitful breeze blew, and the bush off to the right became active again. Simon watched, turning only his eyes from one guard to another. Yes, now! The two nearest the bush were both watching it nervously, hefting their pikes. One started forward and the other fixed his eyes on his comrade to be sure nothing would jump at him out of the darkness. Simon laughed silently and pitched a stone well off in the opposite direction. He saw the head of the guard on the other side turn sharply as the stone hit the ground and Simon ran softly, softly around the guard’s back into the camp.

  Only a few steps back was an empty wagon, strategically placed for the guards to take shelter in case of an attack—more evidence that the Welsh raiders had been at work with their knives and longbows. It was also very convenient for Simon, who stopped in the deep shadow beside it to unfasten and unroll his cloak. This he donned, pulling the hood well over his head and down to conceal his blackened face. Then he strode out boldly, kicked awake the first man he saw, and asked where Lord Geoffrey FitzWilliam’s men were quartered.

  When he had found the area he needed, Simon strolled idly around the tents until he found Tostig, whom he shook awake, just dodging back in time to save himself a punctured throat but not quickly enough to prevent Tostig from seizing him by the ankle.

  “Some welcome,” he grumbled, a bit nettled at having been caught.

  “Sir Simon,” Tostig gasped, recognizing the voice. “Whatever are you doing here?”

  Simon tensed. “Keep your voice down. What do you mean, what am I doing here? Is there some reason I should not be here? Damn and blast, did Henry learn I was with Richard and outlaw me?”

  “No—that is, you have not been outlawed. As for the rest, I cannot say, but I heard my master tell the Earl of Cornwall that you had gone back to Wales.”

  “Well, we are in Wales,” Simon said. “Is Geoffrey here?”

  “Asleep in his tent. Sir Simon, it is the middle of the night!”

  Simon grinned. “Yes, well, there are reasons I could not come calling by day.”

  “Yes, my lord.” Tostig sighed. “Be careful you do not step on the boys. They sleep near the opening to protect my lord—for all that is worth. Both of them sleep like logs.”

  Simon laughed softly. He did not blame Geoffrey’s squires if they did sleep heavily, although he guessed the remark was partly engendered by Tostig’s anxiety for his master. Simon remembered his own campaigns when he served Lord William. It was a noble thing to be a squire to a great man, but it was hard, hard work. In addition to the same riding and fighting the men did, a squire had to run messages, oversee the care of his horse and his lord’s, clean his lord’s armor and weapons—and, of course, his own—see that meals were properly cooked for his lord and serve them with as much elegance as could be provided, attend to the comfort of visitors should there be any, keep an eye on the men-at-arms and report any gross mistreatment or neglect by the captains, set the pickets and make sure the guards were doing their duty—and do a million other one-time-only things either ordered by his lord or directed by his own common sense. And God help him if his common sense did not direct him and he missed doing something. It was no wonder that the boys slept hard.

  Nonetheless, Simon spoke outside the tent before he entered and, although the boys did not seem to have awakened, he did not go too near Geoffrey’s cot. His brother-by-marriage did not sleep heavily on campaign and was quicker and deadlier than anyone Simon knew. Adam might be stronger, but Geoffrey was as swift in striking as an adder.

  “Geoffrey, it is Simon,” he said softly once he was inside.

  He was glad he had been careful. As he spoke, both squires came to their feet with swords bared. If he had gone closer to Geoffrey’s cot, he might have been spitted before he was recognized.

  Geoffrey sat up and laid aside his own bared sword, signaling the boys to lie down again. “Madman,” he said, “what are you doing here?”

  “Why?” Simon asked, throwing back his hood. “Am I accounted an enemy?”

  “Not yet,” Geoffrey responded dryly, turning to draw his bedrobe over his shoulders. Then he goggled at Simon’s blackened face. “What is wrong with you?” he asked, jumping out of bed and coming closer.

  “Nothing,” Simon said, feeling much surprised until Geoffrey gingerly touched his face. Then he laughed. “Soot and grease, Brother, soot and grease. Did you expect me to walk through the lines in a white, satin robe?”

  “I did not expect you to walk through the lines at all. Is that how you came?” There was a note of relief in Geoffrey’s voice.

  “Of course. I do not intend anyone to know I am here. It would be unwise. I am with Richard at Usk.”

  “Fool! Why did you let yourself be trapped there?”

  “I was not trapped,” Simon replied indignantly, but Geoffrey had turned to reach for his traveling case of wine and the movement had brought the light of the night candle more clearly on his face. It was so haggard that Simon’s heart smote him. “Is Papa well?” he asked anxiously.

  Geoffrey waved him to a seat on a camp stool. “Yes…in his health, but… It was by God’s gift that you left London when you did. A day later, or perhaps it was two days, when the news came to Henry that Richard had come and gone, he demanded hostages.”

  “From you?”

  “Do not be a fool. My sons are already in his service. From Ian.”

  “From Papa?” Simon asked with amazement, then laughed. “But who?”<
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  “Henry wanted you or Adam, but more you, I believe. Thank God William was serving wine in the room and heard the whole. He slipped out and warned Adam to be gone at once.”

  “But what did Papa say?”

  “First he asked the king why hostages were needed from a man who had been faithful to his father. Everyone knows how John tried to have Ian killed and that he tried to take your mother. Still, Ian held to his oath. Then Ian said he would be his own hostage, give his men into my hand, and go into prison wherever Henry desired. You can imagine what happened. Ian is greatly beloved. Ferrars said that if Ian were doubted, then he could not be trusted either and he would go where Ian went. Then Cornwall pulled off his sword belt and threw it on the ground by Henry’s feet. He said he would not violate his blood by rebellion, but he, too, would go into prison with Ian.”

  “And Winchester?” Simon growled.

  “I thought the bishop would faint or burst with rage. There can be no doubt that he had not expected what happened. Perhaps he did not intend Henry to make his demand before the whole court. I cannot decide whether he intended that you should be confined secretly first and Ian told later, or that Ian should be asked privately to order you to give your parole to the king. I think the first. Winchester wanted a whip, I think, after that talk Ian had with him. But Henry wanted to show his power.”

  Simon snorted. “So he learned what little strength he has against an honest man. The king backed down, no doubt.”

  “Yes,” Geoffrey sighed, “but that is nothing to be glad of. You know how Henry holds a hurt and remembers it. Still, no harm may come of it—I hope. I made it easy by pointing out that he already had two of Ian’s grandsons in his service. Henry made a great to-do over that, clapping his hand to his forehead and calling himself a fool. He even came down and took Ian’s hand and kissed him.”