Rhiannon

by Roberta Gellis

  After the attack was over, it reminded Simon of a great storm at Roselynde, when gigantic waves crashed against the cliffs below the walls, only to break in spray and fall back, helpless. Simon was sure that this was the beginning of the end, and he smiled grimly to himself and thought, They are growing hungry. Possibly they had used the four days for foraging as well as building, and had found nothing or even had been mauled by Welsh ambushes.

  He was pleased and amused, thinking that Richard would soon know the worth of Prince Llewelyn’s help, and he came off the walls rather smugly satisfied with himself and the situation. A few hours later, this mood changed abruptly when, as the last of the daylight faded, a single man rode to the walls under a flag of truce and begged that Richard send out Simon de Vipont, under safe conduct to come and go freely, so that he might speak with his brother, Lord Geoffrey.

  The only thing Simon could think of was that Geoffrey was dying. He would listen to nothing, impatiently dismissing Richard’s warnings that it might be a trap and ignoring his efforts to discover who the messenger was so he would be more secure as to Simon’s safety. Simon could barely wait for his destrier to be saddled, flinging himself onto his mount and clattering across the drawbridge before it was properly down so that Ymlladd had to jump at the end. He was so frantic that he never noticed the expression on Tostig’s face—the fact that Tostig had come confirmed Simon’s conviction of disaster.

  “Where is he?” Simon cried.

  “In his tent, my lord.”

  “Quick, then, quick.”

  Tostig was well acquainted with Sir Simon and quite accustomed to his fits and starts. He regularly thanked God that he had been placed in the service of a man such as Lord Geoffrey, who was not given to sudden lunacies. However, if Sir Simon said “quick,” it was not Tostig’s place to dispute. Indeed, he would be in danger of a broken head if he did. Therefore, he obeyed Simon’s order, wheeling his horse and clapping heels to its ribs with enough force to set it off at a gallop. This action, naturally enough, further increased Simon’s fear that Geoffrey was at his last gasp.

  It was thus a considerable shock to Simon, who arrived quite frantic and with his eyes half-blinded by tears, to find Geoffrey sitting at ease, with his feet up, comfortably sipping a cup of wine. He let out a bellow of mingled joy and rage that startled Geoffrey into dropping his cup and leaping to his feet with his hand on his sword.

  “I will kill him,” Simon roared, looking over his shoulder.

  “Who? Who?” Geoffrey cried, drawing his own sword and limping forward, fearing that insult or treachery had been offered.

  Had he not been so startled by Simon’s shout, Geoffrey would have realized there was as much laughter as outrage in Simon’s voice, but that became clear only a moment later when Simon ducked around his bared blade, seized him in his arms, and kissed him heartily.

  “Your man Tostig,” Simon chuckled, finally answering Geoffrey’s question when he released him so that he could resheath his sword.

  “What in the world did Tostig say to make you so angry?” Geoffrey asked, really amazed. Occasionally, like any longtime servant, Tostig offered his betters good advice—even when they did not want it or ask for it.

  “Nothing!” Simon replied, still half-furious in reaction to his past fear. “That idiot did not say a word except that you were in your tent and left me to believe you were dying.”

  “Dying?” Geoffrey echoed. “But why should you think I was dying in the first place? What did Tostig say? I told him only to ask for you and to offer safe conduct.”

  “Well, that is all he did,” Simon grumbled, watching Geoffrey pick up his cup, set another on the table, and pour wine into both. “But what did you expect me to think after a hard battle that went so ill for your side?”

  Geoffrey’s fair brows arched upward and his lips twitched. “I am old enough to take care of myself.”

  “Yes,” Simon agreed, but with so little conviction that Geoffrey began to laugh aloud. Simon shrugged. “You do tend to run amok in battle.”

  “Coming from you—” Geoffrey began, then laughed again. “Never mind. Sit down. I have something to suggest to you and I wish to hear what you think, but first a question. You told me the last time we spoke that Richard would make truce if one were offered. Is this still true, or has the attack on him changed his mind?”

  “I am sure it is still true, but you must know that I am not the first of his advisers. Still, I am sure he does not wish to break his oath of fealty. And you must see this to be true. He has not used the catapults or ballistas or mangonels against the king’s army and he has refused to ride out to attack, even after he saw that your men had been used too hard.”

  Geoffrey sighed with relief. “Good. That is very good. I hope that Henry is now willing to listen to reason, and I do not believe Winchester will oppose a truce. He is enough of a soldier himself to see that our situation is growing worse, not better. If a desirable arrangement can be devised, would Richard receive a delegation? I am afraid it will have to contain Winchester, but the Bishop of Saint David’s and the Bishop of London will be there also, as will I.”

  “I am sure he will receive you, but whether he would agree with you as to what is desirable is a different matter. I think he is eager to make peace, but he has not changed his principles.”

  “I know that. I wish, however, to avoid making matters worse while I am trying to mend them. If Henry and Richard can come to terms before any real damage is done, it would be much better for everyone. It is possible to forget an injury, of course, but it is always better when there is nothing to forget.”

  Simon frowned. “Yes, but I fear things have already gone so far… Do you really think the king, and more especially Winchester, will deal faithfully? However, you are right, I suppose. It is necessary to try. What do you want me to do?”

  “Only to tell Richard what we have said to each other, and, of course, if he should have changed his mind to let me know as soon as possible. If we talk Henry around and Richard will not even receive us, that would be very bad.”

  “I do not think it,” Simon assured him, “but if the other men should be so hot against it that Richard must yield to them, I will come to you myself or send Siorl. He can speak enough French to make himself understood. Before I go, tell me how everyone is at home.”

  “All well when I last heard. Ian is still in the north, just barely keeping his men from rushing down here and attacking our rear. Joanna is at Hemel. Your mother is riding the south holdings to keep them quiet, and— Oh, I have a funny story for you. You know that old Sir Henry is too old for his duties, far too old. Naturally your mother would not turn him out, but there must be a new castellan. Lady Alinor chose Sir Harold, Giles of Iford’s youngest son, to succeed at Kingsclere. He knew Sir Henry and will be kind enough to pretend deference and not hurt the old man. Unfortunately, Sir Harold is here with me, and it would cause Sir Henry great distress to put in a temporary castellan, so Sybelle is at Kingsclere. She is very clever at making her decisions look as though she were taking his advice.”

  Simon grinned at Geoffrey, who laughed back. Sir Henry was a total blockhead. He had been a strong fighter, was absolutely loyal and honest, but advice from him would be more likely to cause a disaster than to be of any help. Still, he had known how to defend his lady’s lands, to recognize unauthorized encroachments, and to mete out simple justice. Now he was too old and too crippled to ride out, but his mistress had not forgotten his good service and was ready to do her best for him even at considerable inconvenience to herself.

  “You remember,” Geoffrey went on, “that the king disseisined Gilbert Bassett of Upavon—”

  “Geoffrey,” Simon protested, “do you think I am so addle-witted that I do not remember why I must come to speak to you under safe conduct?”

  There was a brief, eloquent silence. Geoffrey’s lips twitched, but he managed to remain grave and said, “No, of course not.”

  In fact, Geoffre
y did not think Simon addle-witted at all, merely apolitical. Simon liked Richard Marshal and did not like the king. That would have been reason enough for him. He did not need the fact of Henry’s offense to insinuate himself into a war.

  “Anyway,” Geoffrey continued, “Upavon is not much more than twenty miles from Kingsclere, and Walter de Clare has been raiding in that area so that the king would get as little benefit as possible from having transferred Bassett’s property to Maulay. Some of Walter’s men appear to have wandered a bit astray and have encroached on a Kingsclere farm. Needless to say they were driven off and soundly drubbed. They ran for their base camp with—”

  “Not Sybelle! No, that is too much. I will have to talk seriously to that girl. She will never get a husband if she takes to—”

  “You will have to talk to her?” Geoffrey gasped. “Who taught her to be such a hoyden?”

  “Not I!” Simon exclaimed indignantly. “I always told her she should not be so wild. Whenever she got so dirty and her clothes in such a terrible state, I—”

  Geoffrey burst out laughing. “Yes, you told her—after leading her into the scrape in the first place. But this time it really was not her fault—at least, I suppose she should have ordered the men not to give chase or should have gone back to the keep with a few while the others pursued the raiders. In any case, she was with the troop when they hit the camp, and she caught Walter de Clare with—as the saying is—his chausses undone.”

  “You think that is funny?” Simon groaned.

  “Do not you?” Geoffrey chortled. “You can imagine what she said to him.”

  “I certainly can,” Simon agreed sourly. “Well, there is one marriage that will not be made.”

  “Are you so sure?” Geoffrey asked. Then he shrugged. “If you are right, it was the wrong marriage to consider anyway. A man needs to know what he is getting when he takes one of the women of Roselynde to his bosom.”

  “Did you?” Simon asked interestedly.

  Geoffrey eyed his brother-by-marriage for a moment and then said softly, “Yes.” His lips twitched. “I came to Roselynde when your father married your mother. Joanna was then nine years old. She was beautiful even then, and very sweet and proper—until I crossed her will and she hit me on the head with Beorn’s quarterstaff. Yes, I knew.”

  “But I do not think Walter—” Simon began, and then stopped. He did not find Rhiannon’s aggressive ways distasteful. He found them exciting. Perhaps Walter would, too—after he recovered from how Sybelle expressed her disapproval of his management of his men—if he ever recovered. Simon sighed. “Where is he now?”

  “In the same area, perhaps farther west, nearer Devizes. I think there is more to it than just raiding to make the king’s adherents dissatisfied. I fear the end purpose has something to do with de Burgh. If you see or hear from Walter, Simon, bid him have no part in attempting to free de Burgh. Devizes is too strong, and any attempt will only increase the severity of the old man’s imprisonment.”

  “I will,” Simon said, but his voice was doubtful, and there was a question in his eyes.

  “Do not be a fool.” Geoffrey sighed. “I cannot write to him. If I know such a thing, I should warn the king of it—and that is the last thing I wish to do because it would bring about all the bad effects of such an attempt without achieving anything at all.”

  “But I do not believe I will go back to England when this siege is over, and I do not have a messenger I can trust to go anywhere but Roselynde, so—” Simon’s voice broke off suddenly and he slapped himself on the forehead and grinned. “Oh, what a dunderhead I am,” he laughed. “Of course. I will write to Sybelle. That will either set the fat in the fire or supply a miraculous cure—but she will not fail to send on your warning.” Simon put down his empty wine cup and stood up. “Is there anything else?”

  “No. Get back now, and hear what Richard says. If he is willing to parley, do nothing. Only send word if he will not receive us.”

  There was no question of that. Simon was told that Richard wished to speak to him as soon as he reentered Usk, and after he was assured that Simon’s fears for Geoffrey had been groundless, he listened eagerly to Simon’s news. Far from being reluctant, he was impatient to receive Henry’s embassy and, when they came two days later, showed them all the courtesy in his power. Simon, of course, took no part in the negotiations. He was very junior both in status and in years to the others, and he was not even Richard’s vassal. However, he was well informed by Geoffrey.

  On the surface it was not an unreasonable proposal. To save the king’s pride, Richard was to yield Usk to him on the specific agreement that it would be returned intact and undamaged in fifteen days. In return, the king pledged himself to “make all necessary reformations in the kingdom”. On the Sunday after Michaelmas, all the parties were to meet at Westminster to discuss what reformation was necessary and to take the proper steps toward it. The bishops and Geoffrey were securities for the king.

  Richard was very happy. He felt that the yielding of his castle for two weeks was a small price to pay to achieve all his other objectives. He was prepared to bend his knee and say he was deeply sorry to have offended his overlord. It was true! He was sorry, and he had none of the false pride that would prohibit such an admission. He would not say his purpose was wrong; he still intended to achieve that purpose, but he would be very glad to do so by yielding and persuasion rather than by force.

  The bishops were also happy. Theoretically the Church did not approve of war between Christians, although there were exceptions to this rule. In this case practical reasons reinforced theological doctrine. There could be no profit to the Church in the continuation of this conflict. Truthfully, few of the bishops liked Peter des Roches any better than the barons liked him, and they saw no advantage in his ascendancy over the king. It was their intention to support Richard’s demand that the king reconstitute and consult a council of barons and bishops as required in the Great Charter.

  Geoffrey was hopeful rather than happy. The eagerness with which Richard had responded and his willingness to agree to the king’s terms had pleased Henry. The king was no longer talking about halters around his vassal’s neck. Moreover, Henry had been quite sharp in his speech with the bishop these last days. Perhaps the wily Winchester would take warning from that and lean more toward moderation and conciliation. Geoffrey did not think Winchester had abandoned his purpose any more than Richard had abandoned his, but he believed that political intrigue was far less dangerous to the nation at large than open war.

  Philip Bassett was furious. Although he, his brother, and all their adherents had been included in the truce and were to be parties in the conference on October ninth, he said openly that Richard was a fool to trust the king. Henry had no intention of returning Usk to Richard, he claimed. This truce was only a device to gain a better foothold in south Wales from which more devastating attacks could be launched, and anyone foolish enough to leave the protection of his own lands and appear at Westminster would soon find himself lodged in the Tower with no way out—if he did not find himself shorter by a head. Others of Richard’s adherents hushed Bassett, pointing out that Richard was in no mood to listen, but the castellan of Usk looked very thoughtful.

  The next day, when orders were given to vacate the keep so that Henry’s men could take it over, Simon went to say farewell to the castellan’s son, who had been a pleasant companion during idle hours. He could not find him. Fortunately, before he asked for him, Simon noticed that a number of the men in the castellan’s troop did not know how to fasten their armor and that the weapons they bore were rusted and battered and broken. Simon shut his mouth hard and hastened away, telling his own troop to mingle with that of the castellan and help them and, if they could, hide the deficiencies of the serfs pretending to be men-at-arms.

  Perhaps it was not honorable to the letter of the truce for the castellan to have left his son and most of the peacetime garrison of Usk in the keep disguised as servingmen. Howev
er, Simon was in perfect accord with him. If the king kept his word, no harm would be done. The castellan’s son and his men-at-arms would hew wood, draw water, and have an unpleasant two or three weeks of hard labor. If the king broke his word, on the other hand, it would be his violation of the agreement that caused the harm. When Richard returned and attacked Usk to recover it, there would be no long siege or bloody battle. The castellan’s son and his men would throw off their disguises, unearth their weapons, and open Usk to its rightful master.

  Simon was delighted as he rode north with his men. He had lingered behind the others long enough to send off his letter to Sybelle and, incidentally, to be sure that the castellan’s ruse was not discovered. Once he was on the road, he made the very best speed he could, expecting he would have to ride all the way to Aber or Caernarvon. Hardly had he passed Abergavenny and plunged into the valley that ran west of Ysgyryd Fawr, however, than a messenger came leaping down the flank of the hill and hailed him. Prince Llewelyn was at Builth, he said, and bade him come there with his news. Simon was overjoyed.

  It was rather late when they arrived at Builth, but Llewelyn was awake and waiting for him. News of the “surrender” of Usk had flown over the mountains and up the valleys by relays of swift runners, and the prince had guessed that Simon would not linger after Richard was gone. Although he had been in the saddle for hours, Simon gladly went to his overlord. He was eager to know what Llewelyn would make of the terms of the truce. Besides that, the sooner he had told the prince everything he knew, guessed, and even hoped, the sooner he would be free to go to Rhiannon.

  Since the truce had been proposed, Simon’s thoughts had turned from the arts of war to the arts of love. He had gone over and over that last day’s happenings, from finding Rhiannon in the woods to the final, soft, “Fare thee well.” Unfortunately, the events showed him no clear path. He was puzzled and hurt by Rhiannon’s doubt of him and of herself. In some ways Simon was very innocent despite his many sexual liaisons. Simplistically, he accounted all the women who yielded to him as bad. He acknowledged that, in many cases, their husbands did not deserve chaste or loving wives. Nonetheless, the woman who violated her vows was at fault—the Church said so, men said so, it must be so.