Rhiannon

by Roberta Gellis

  Obviously, Simon could not rush to Court in the dirty, dusty, bloodstained clothes in which he had hunted. Thus, it took a little time to wash his face and hands and get into decent garments. By the time he arrived, Rhiannon was nearly finished with her song. She had chosen a shorter piece this time, being less positive than the king that ancient tales of magic and adventure would interest sophisticated Provençals and Savoyards. In fact, the reception was so enthusiastic that Simon, a very junior person and not even a vassal of the king, could get nowhere near her.

  The guests’ sincere requests for another song, to which Rhiannon acceded with quiet pleasure, gave Simon a chance to work his way nearer. At the end of this second song Rhiannon respectfully begged not to sing again because she was tired. Simon tensed, but there was no need. Although the audience was regretful, not even the king insisted. However, he again came down from his chair of state to speak to Rhiannon. Simon could not quite get through the crowd to reach them, but he was quite close enough to see Henry give Rhiannon a beautiful ring from his own finger and hear him again try to convince her to join the Court.

  Rhiannon shook her head slowly, making her heavy, jewel-laden earrings swing and flash. “I could not, even if I so wished, my lord.”

  “You mean because Simon’s lands are in Wales? But that is nothing. I can give him—”

  “No, indeed,” Rhiannon interrupted emphatically. “It is nothing to do with Simon. I love my father, but I could never abide even his Court for very long. I need the empty space, the hills, and the forests. My lord, you may catch and cage a lark and it may live—but it will never sing. If you leave me free, I will return to you, often and gladly, for you love in your heart what I do. That is a sure lure and the mead I crave far more than this precious ring you have given me. I beg you, do not try to cage me.”

  “But if you go back to your hills, it will be very long before you come again, no matter how willingly.”

  “And that would be a very great loss to us all,” the Bishop of Winchester added smoothly to Henry’s protest. “We must find such inducements as will make our Welsh lark desire to nest in an English meadow. Larks fly high, but they do not stray from their nests. Thus, Lady Rhiannon may be free and we may still hear her sing.”

  Rhiannon would have stepped back, away from the black eyes that transfixed her, but a hard body blocked her move, and a hard hand encircled her arm. She uttered a soft, shocked cry, but before she could pull away from the restraint she feared, Simon’s voice identified the man behind her.

  “As I told my lord the king a day ago, there is no immediate need for any inducement. It is my intention to remain with the Court.”

  The words were civil. They might have had a better effect if Simon’s eyes were not brilliant with challenge. He had been able to come up to Rhiannon at last because as Winchester advanced, the people around her had fallen back, away from the bishop. The combined effect of the withdrawal and Simon’s expression was not at all soothing to Winchester’s feelings. Simon’s look dried the saliva in Rhiannon’s mouth, and she stepped sideways instinctively, although she could not flee with Simon’s hand holding her arm like an iron band. The movement drew the king’s eyes, but fortunately he misread the expression on her face.

  “We have tired you,” he said regretfully.

  Rhiannon seized on his words as a drowning man clutches at a chance log floating by. “Yes, I am sorry,” she whispered. “Will you give me leave, my lord, to go?”

  “Yes, of course,” Henry replied at once, and added contritely, “We should not have urged you to sing a second time. I shall take care in the future not to ask too much.”

  Winchester opened his mouth, possibly to protest or to offer a quiet chamber where Rhiannon could rest, but Simon was prepared and spoke first.

  “There is no need to call her escort. I have my own men. I will see my wife home.” He swept her away, hardly allowing her to curtsy to the king and bishop. As soon as they were out of earshot, he snarled, “Fool! Idiot! To come alone into their power. Have you no sense at all?”

  Rhiannon made no reply because she had been far more frightened by Winchester than by the king. In retrospect, his smooth speech about an English meadow was terrifying. Rhiannon knew that the bishop had not been at all touched by her singing. He enjoyed it in a mild way, but if he was willing to offer inducements, it was to snare Llewelyn’s daughter, who might be a useful hostage. He had no real desire to keep her for his pleasure. Nonetheless, as her fear receded a little, she grew angry. Simon had no right to insult her and call her a fool when he did not know the circumstances of her going.

  “Did I not tell you not to go to sing for the king again?” Simon asked furiously when they were mounted and out of earshot of the guards at the door. “It is by God’s Grace alone that I came there in time.”

  “You are a fool yourself,” Rhiannon snapped. “I had no choice but to go. Ask your mother and father. They will tell you. And you are worse than I! You had no need almost to fling a glaive into Winchester’s face.”

  “What would you have had me do? Should I have let him take you to a private chamber somewhere in the keep and tell the world that you found it so delightful that you wished to stay?”

  “The king would not suffer it!” Rhiannon exclaimed.

  “Why not? Oh, he might be angry at first, but after it was explained how fine a hostage he had in his hands, not only for your father but for me and my father and my brothers—”

  “I did not say it was wrong to take me away,” Rhiannon broke in hotly. “I said you were a fool to do it in such a way that Winchester understood your suspicions all too well. And you are more the fool because I could have got away on my own without making more bad feeling than there is already.”

  “Only an ignorant chit of a girl would think of such a stupidity,” Simon snarled. “You might have left the hall, but you would never have arrived at home.”

  “And who would have given such an order to the king’s squire of the body and the escort he led? Simon, you are ridiculous! Winchester would not take me by force, and you know it. Perhaps my father loves me, but he loves nothing so well as Gwynedd, and my life or death would not alter his purpose—except to make him put to death shamefully and cruelly ten or twenty or a hundred English knights to pay for my blood. Winchester must know this.”

  “I tell you, you know nothing about it,” Simon raged. “You are ignorant of the ways of this Court. In the future, simply obey me and do not cause me so much trouble.”

  “I will cause you none at all by my will,” Rhiannon hissed, “for I will have no more to do with you than I can help—and that will be little indeed.”

  At that inopportune moment they arrived at the house. Simon was appalled by the icy rage which gave force to Rhiannon’s words. He reached for the bridle of her mare, to lead it on so that he would have time to take back what he had said and calm her, but she slipped from the saddle and ran past the gate, through the courtyard, and into the house. Simon was after her in moments, but it was too late. By the time he caught up, she was standing in front of the screen that shielded their bed.

  “You are not welcome here,” she said softly but very coldly.

  “Be reasonable,” Simon protested, also softly. “There is no other place for me.”

  “Go find yourself another woman’s bed. There are plenty open to you, I hear. So skilled as you are, they should be far less trouble to you than I am.”

  “You hear aright, and it would be less trouble,” Simon snarled, infuriated past good sense, “but I am constrained by my oath and I will not so lightly release you from yours.”

  Rhiannon’s lips drew back from her teeth, but not in a smile. “You think yourself irresistible? You have much to learn about me, Simon. We will see whose hunger conquers.” She stepped aside. “Stay or go as you please then—but do not touch me.”

  She went about her business after that as if he were invisible, laying aside her jewels, undressing, and getting into
the bed. After a stunned moment Simon followed her behind the screen and stood watching her, hardly believing what she seemed to mean.

  “Rhiannon—” he said.

  “Good night,” she replied. “I beg you not to trouble me longer with talk. I am tired. Do not strain my forbearance.”

  Simon stood a moment longer, took an uncertain step toward the edge of the screen, and then stopped. The solar was dark except for the pale flicker of a night candle. That meant his father and mother were asleep. Even as he stood there, the oldest of the maids dropped the bars across the outside door and drew her pallet across in front of it. Another was snuffing the lights. Really, there was no place for Simon to go. He thought briefly of sleeping on the floor and resentment flooded him. Why should he? Instead he threw off his clothes and climbed into the bed, dropping flat with an ill-natured thump. If he was not irresistible, he thought angrily, neither was she! In truth, Helen herself would not have been irresistible to Simon that night. He was bone tired, both physically and emotionally. Thus, in spite of the turmoil of resentment and remorse, he fell asleep very quickly.

  His deep, even breathing was an additional insult to Rhiannon. Although the fury with which Simon had cited his oath to her as a bar to his seeking another woman’s company had convinced her he had not yet betrayed that oath, she told herself angrily that it was only temporary. Next time he would. But she was uncomfortable even in her rage. There was a falseness in it and in the fuel she was using to feed it. Nonetheless, for some reason she could not bear to contemplate at all, she would not let it go.

  Simon slept like a log and did not wake until he heard the tables being set up for the breaking of the household’s fast. Then he remembered he had missed the evening meal the night before and was suddenly ravenous. He put out a hand to wake Rhiannon, but he remembered the quarrel of the preceding night before he touched her. Better to let her wake on her own. Simon’s irritation with Rhiannon had evaporated with his exhaustion, but his memory of the scene with Winchester was more, rather than less, troubling. Grabbing a bedrobe, he went out and found his parents already eating.

  To Simon’s relief, his father looked quite normal this morning. His eyes were still worried, but the frightening gray tinge was gone from his skin, and Alinor’s smile seemed quite natural. Thus, he was able to tell the whole tale of the none-too-subtle confrontation with Winchester. Ian was appalled, but Alinor shook her head at him.

  “I do not say I would have taken the same path,” she remarked, “but I can see a useful end to this one.” A snap of the fingers summoned a servant, whom she sent to fetch Geoffrey. “Rhiannon must not come before the king again,” she went on when she had finished the message to the servant. “At least, not while we are here in Oxford.”

  “I am glad you agree with me,” Simon said.

  “Yesterday I did not agree with you,” Alinor pointed out. “Today is different because Rhiannon did go yesterday.”

  “I cannot believe Winchester ever intended such a thing,” Ian protested. “He is devious, but not mad. Holding Rhiannon would never stop Llewelyn, but would only make him more ferocious.”

  “That was what Rhiannon said, but I am not sure Winchester realizes that Llewelyn would react that way,” Simon insisted.

  “Ii does not matter a pin what Winchester intended or understood. He may be innocent of all evil designs,” Alinor snapped. “What does matter is that he has given into our hands another needle with his name on it to thrust into the king’s hide.”

  Both her husband and her son stopped chewing to stare at her. “Well?” Ian prompted.

  “Wait for Geoffrey,” Alinor replied, smiling and taking a hearty bite from a slice of cheese. “I do not wish to have to say it all twice.”

  Simon and Ian looked at each other. They were never so much at one as in those times when both wished to strangle Alinor. Fortunately for their pride and their tempers, Geoffrey and the others came in just then. A gesture made Simon recapitulate what he had just told them. Various expressions, some of approval and some of irritation, were cut off by Ian’s shushing motions.

  “Your mother,” he remarked sardonically, “was delighted. She says she has a way to turn this stupidity to account, but it needs Geoffrey’s concurrence.”

  Geoffrey immediately began to look very wary. Alinor was usually wise, but from time to time a really outrageous notion would occur to her. Since she was both clever and stubborn, it was very difficult either to prove her wrong or to divert her.

  “You need not look as if I were about to hand you a live adder wrapped in rose leaves,” Alinor said.

  “But it is not unknown for you to do so, Mama,” Gilliane pointed out gently, “and to say such a thing can only make poor Geoffrey wonder all the more.”

  Alinor laughed. “But do you not see it?” she asked. “Henry is assuredly besotted on Rhiannon’s singing. He noticed that she was frightened when he spoke of keeping her—you told me that, Ian. He cannot have failed to notice how disturbed she was at what Winchester said when she had just asked for assurances that she would not be caged.”

  “Come, Mama, spit it out,” Adam said impatiently. “What are we to do?”

  “You? Nothing! You are as bad as Simon for saying what you should not. What Simon will do is take Rhiannon to our house in London.”

  “Why London?” Simon asked. “I can see reason to take her home to Wales, but not to London. We will be even more vulnerable there.”

  “There is no question of vulnerability,” Alinor replied. “You are letting your imagination run wild. No force will be used. Besides, you assured both Winchester and the king that you would remain with the Court until the council.” Then she turned her eyes to her son-by-marriage. “This is where Geoffrey’s concurrence is needed. When the king asks for Rhiannon to sing again, as he will, Geoffrey must tell him that Winchester frightened her so much with his talk of nests in English meadows that she only wished to flee home last night.”

  Geoffrey’s face cleared. “Yes, and you are quite right, this is not an adder wrapped in rose leaves—at least, not for me. I see the rest now. I can say that it took all our efforts to convince her not to go home but that nothing would make her remain here. Finally we managed to find a compromise. She would go to London and sing for the king, but only at Alinor’s house or when Winchester was not at Court. Then, when the king comes to London, I will remind him. Yes, yes, this is good.”

  “There is only one difficulty,” Simon put in, rather red in the face. “I do not know whether Rhiannon will agree.” Every head turned to him. In the silence his flush grew deeper.

  “Well?” Alinor urged sharply.

  “We—er—quarreled over her going alone to Court last night,” Simon offered. “I was tired and said more than I should.”

  “You must have said a good deal more than was necessary,” Alinor snapped.

  “But it was my fault, Simon,” Ian interrupted hastily. “Curse me! I should have gone with her. I knew it, but—”

  “There is no sense in ‘should haves’ now,” Alinor broke in. “I am sorry we could not explain to Simon how it came about that Rhiannon went alone. Who could believe that he would fix on this idea of abducting her? In any case, there will be plenty of time to explain to Rhiannon why it is necessary for her to go to London.”

  “Yes, because it will really forward Llewelyn’s purpose more than ours,” Geoffrey remarked. “Our point will be made even if she insists on going back to Wales.”

  “But I am not afraid that she will wish to go to Wales,” Simon complained. “She is almost as enamored of the king’s listening as he is of her singing.”

  “That is not true,” Rhiannon said. Everyone had been so absorbed in the discussion that no one had noticed her come out from behind the bed curtains. She was standing quite near the table, her eyes angry. “Any singer is glad of those who listen with their hearts,” she continued, “but a wise bird does not sit down on limed twigs just to obtain hearers.”

&n
bsp; Simon threw up his hands in disgust. “Everything I say is wrong these days.”

  To this no one bothered to reply. Alinor had done a quick survey of what had been said and decided with relief that nothing except Simon’s last words could be thought of as critical of Rhiannon. This did not worry Alinor. She was quite confident of her son’s ability to wriggle out of any stupidity he had fallen into with a girl who loved him. In fact, the best opportunity for him to redeem himself would occur when they were alone.

  “Well, then,” Alinor said, as if her son had not spoken, “are you willing to go with Simon to London and await the king’s coming there?”

  “Yes, I am,” Rhiannon replied. “I may be ignorant—as some believe—but I am not too stupid to learn.”

  Chapter Nineteen

  To be sure they were not making any mistake, Geoffrey rode off to Court while Simon took Rhiannon out into the countryside. That way, if Geoffrey were asked about her, he could say quite truthfully that he did not know where she was nor when she would return. As far as Geoffrey was concerned, however, that move was wasted. The Court was in too great an uproar for anyone to think of a singer, no matter how fine.

  As soon as Henry had come from his chamber after breaking his fast, a herald had delivered aloud and in public the Earl of Pembroke’s demand that the terms of the truce be met. The earl begged in all duty and humility, the herald said, that the king’s writ bidding his servants return Usk to Pembroke’s men be sent at once. The herald offered to take the writ himself or to accompany the king’s messenger if the king preferred to send one.

  Behind his expressionless face, Geoffrey’s thoughts flicked. Firstly, that Walter must have found Richard in good time. Secondly, that Richard had made a very clever move. Thirdly, that Winchester’s first line of attack had certainly been checked. Doubtless the bishop had counted on Pembroke sending a deputy to Usk, since he was due at Westminster on October ninth. There had been no arrangement for any public announcement of the return of Usk. In fact, the expectation would be that it would be done as quietly and unobtrusively as possible to save face for the king. Winchester had hoped, Geoffrey assumed, that no one, including Richard, would know for certain that the terms of the truce had been broken until the date of the council.