Rhiannon

by Roberta Gellis

  It was not easy to cling to this conviction in the face of the roars of approval of London’s statement—cruel and inaccurate, Henry thought it. No one would ever listen to his side, Henry thought. Resentment made him determined to force them to his will, but he was not fool enough to demand knight service at this moment. God knew what they would do; they might even threaten to seize him. Moreover, those most faithful in the past, Ferrars, Ian de Vipont, and his own cousin Geoffrey, were cheering. Henry rose and left.

  But his troubles were not over. No sooner was it apparent that the political meeting had reached an irreconcilable impasse than the bishops returned to the attack on the question of the violation of sanctuary. For another day or two Henry resisted, but his heart was not in it, and when Roger of London’s thin voice fulled to a deeper bell tone and began to thunder anathema, Henry began to think of ways to accomplish the same purpose without imperiling himself. The turning point came when the specter of the martyrdom of Thomas a Becket was raised.

  “If Hubert de Burgh should die in prison,” London warned, “you will be guilty of the murder of a man under the protection of the Church. Remember that all your grandfather’s power was not enough to protect him. Remember how, to save his soul, he walked naked and barefoot and knelt to be beaten with rods in the full eye of all, crying mea culpa for his fault and his offense.”

  Henry shuddered. He was rather fond of going barefoot in his shirt to do penance for this fault and that. There was a delicious sense of contrition and uplift in it. But that was at his choice, and all who were invited to attend were sympathetic and also uplifted by the purity and humility of their king. What London was threatening was different. Henry knew he would be an object of ridicule and shame, and he knew the Church must win, for it was God’s special thing, and it would extract the harshest penalty. There had to be another way.

  When stimulated, Henry’s mind was quick and agile. He preserved his face by dismissing the bishops once more, but this time with an assurance that they would have his full answer the next day. By then he was ready. Once before, de Burgh had sought sanctuary. That time he had crawled out himself, begging Henry’s mercy because the sanctuary had been surrounded and no food could be brought to him. Rather than starve, he had broken sanctuary himself. What had been done once could be done again.

  The next day, as he had promised, Henry gave his judgment. He agreed that de Burgh would be returned to the church near Devizes. Roger of London saw the gleam in the king’s eye, and he knelt down, soft-voiced, to beg for mercy, to plead that de Burgh be allowed to live in peace in that church. He would be no danger to anyone there, the bishop pleaded; he was an old man and broken. To this the king made no answer other than a slight smile. The bishop sighed. He knew that Henry would order the church surrounded so that de Burgh could be starved out, however, that was outside the jurisdiction of the Church. Roger could plead for mercy as a man, but he could not fight for it as a prelate.

  The explosion that had taken place two days before Henry released de Burgh was the signal that freed Simon and Rhiannon, however, there was no particular urgency about leaving. The news was important, but it would bear no fruit for several weeks. There was plenty of time to inform Llewelyn. Thus, time was spent in a round of farewell visits and in packing. Rhiannon found her baskets far fuller than they had been when she came. Aside from what she had purchased herself, Alinor and Joanna had loaded her with gifts and there were even items from Gilliane at Tarring.

  Tearfully Rhiannon tried to tell them that she did not expect to be married to Simon. All smiled on her and kissed her and assured her the gifts were for her in remembrance, not for Simon’s wife. They all wished for the marriage and would pray for it, but their love was for Rhiannon herself whether she married Simon or not. Helplessly, Rhiannon did what she could, bestowing rings and necklets on each of the women she desired for sisters, except… To Alinor she gave the length of cloth that Kicva had woven because Alinor had called it a wonder and Rhiannon felt it was the most precious thing she had that Alinor would be likely to use. She had feared that Simon’s mother would protest, but she did not. Instead she had smiled and folded Rhiannon in her arms—a most unusual gesture, for Alinor saved her embraces for infants and for her husband.

  “I know just what to do with it, my love,” Alinor said. “You will be glad, very glad when you see it, and I am sure your mother will approve.”

  “My mother?” Rhiannon echoed.

  “Yes, my love,” Alinor laughed. “Be sure to tell Kicva that you have given me the cloth of birds and that I said when I took it that I would put it to the use for which she intended it.”

  “But—but how could you know the use? I am not sure that my mother had any special use in mind.”

  “Then do not bother your head about it. Perhaps your mother will explain. Now it is not important.”

  Rhiannon was annoyed. She was not a small child about whom adults spoke over her head as if she were not there or could not understand. Yet, without even being in the same country, without ever having met, Alinor acted as if she and Kicva were in complete communication and understanding. Rhiannon could not spoil a gift-giving with sharp words, but she told herself she would surely find out Kicva’s intention for that cloth and prove to Alinor that she had guessed wrong.

  Chapter Twenty-One

  The small irritation with Alinor’s seemingly superior knowledge was pushed into the back of Rhiannon’s mind by the fact of starting home, which was by no means an unalloyed pleasure. Rhiannon desired her home and her freedom and told herself that, once there, she would be free of the mingled joy and pain of desiring Simon. It was a great surprise to her that this idea did not lift her spirits. Instead a pall so black settled over her that it made even the sunlight seem dim.

  Simon did not notice Rhiannon’s depression. He had a subject of absorbing interest to chew over in his mind. Just before they left, Ian had told him Hubert de Burgh would be returned to the church near Devizes keep. Then, seemingly dropping that subject, Ian had asked Simon to take a somewhat southerly route toward Wales, due west from London, so that they could stop at Kingsclere to see old Sir Henry. The old castellan was failing fast and had asked if “the young devil” would visit with him before he left England.

  Simon knew from Walter that Gilbert Bassett and Richard Siward were raiding in the area around Devizes. He did not know what losses they had taken nor how widely their forces were spread. It was very likely that they would not have enough men to chance an attack on the guard the king would set to starve out de Burgh. The smallest alarm would bring out the entire garrison of Devizes.

  Even if they could get de Burgh out, it was not likely they could get him away with that force following them. The man was old and weak from being harshly treated; he could not travel far or fast. To rescue de Burgh, only to have him recaptured, would serve the king’s purpose. However, if he could be removed secretly, soon after the night guard came on duty, there would be a few—or with luck, many—hours before the escape was discovered. This would give the fugitive a good head start, and no one would know in which direction he had fled. The chances then would be quite good for a clean escape.

  The trouble was that Simon did not think Bassett or Siward or any of their men would be capable of spiriting de Burgh away without raising an alarm. His Welsh could do it, but should he embroil himself in such an enterprise? Hubert de Burgh had been no favorite with his family in the past.

  Ordinarily Simon would have thought a pox on the king and de Burgh, but his sense of honor and fair play was outraged. It seemed unfair and cruel to him to hound a helpless old man. If the king feared de Burgh, it was reasonable to keep him in gentlemanly confinement; that was what had originally been intended by the four earls who agreed to be his gaolers. To have abrogated that agreement and to have thrust him, loaded with chains, into a dungeon was too much. It was not the king, anyway, Simon told himself. Probably it was Winchester, who feared if de Burgh were freed he would work
himself back into Henry’s affection. Thus Winchester kept inflaming the king’s mind against his old mentor and hoping cruel treatment would kill the old man and remove him permanently as a rival.

  The whole subject would never have entered Simon’s mind had they taken the shortest route back to Wales. They would have gone northwest toward Northampton and on through Coventry and Shrewsbury. However, Ian’s request that they stop at Kingsclere changed that. On the northern road, they would have been too far from Devizes for de Burgh’s plight to have any pertinence. But Kingsclere was only thirty miles as the crow flies from Devizes. There was some rough country between and no direct road, but that would be child’s play compared with the trackless mountains of Wales.

  There had been nothing in Ian’s face to suggest any ulterior purpose in mentioning de Burgh’s release just before he asked Simon to go to Kingsclere. The first was information Llewelyn would be interested to hear and Simon should know; the second was a personal matter entirely. Of course, Simon knew his father felt just as he did about de Burgh. Could he have meant… No, Simon told himself, you cannot blame such a mad escapade on anyone. If you do it and get caught and get everyone into terrible trouble, you cannot tell yourself that Papa hinted…he did nothing of the sort. He would probably be horrified at the idea.

  Still, the notion kept coming back. If he could find Bassett and obtain his agreement, the Welsh could rescue de Burgh from the church and deliver him to Bassett. Simon himself could then return over the hills to Kingsclere, and no one need ever know he had been involved. But it would not be fair to Rhiannon. Even if he left her at Kingsclere, she would be tarred with his black brush if he were caught, and all her effort to ingratiate herself with Henry would be wasted. In fact, probably the king would blame Llewelyn as well as Rhiannon for Simon’s mischief.

  All through the long ride to Kingsclere, the arguments flowed back and forth in Simon’s mind. Rhiannon was herself agonized, mistaking his frowning absorption for unhappiness. A hundred times she opened her mouth to speak and closed it again, unable to offer comfort because she was still unwilling to offer herself as sacrifice.

  It was an untold relief to arrive at the keep and be greeted with tearful gratitude by Sir Henry. The old man was in bad case. He was nearly paralyzed and often in pain. He was well cared for but terribly depressed by his helplessness and the boredom of sitting hour after hour unable to move and with nothing to do. Sir Harold did his best, but he had duties around the estate and his close attention was all the more necessary because he was new in his position.

  Worse, Sir Harold did not yet have a wife. Until Alinor had fixed on him to be castellan at Kingsclere, he could not afford a wife unless an heiress could be found for him. Since there were many penniless younger sons and the parents or guardians of heiresses preferred men with something to add to the lady’s estate, Sir Harold had never thought of marriage. Now his elder brother and Lady Alinor were both looking around for a suitable girl or young widow for him, but none had yet been found. Thus, there was no one to sit with old Sir Henry except the even older priest, who was also failing. There was no one to talk about subjects that would interest him, like hunting or fighting, or even to give him a game of chess.

  Both Simon and Rhiannon were touched by the old man’s joy in their coming and his tremulous fear that they would stay no longer than the one night. By common consent, without words, it was decided that they would extend the visit. Sir Harold was almost as grateful as Sir Henry. He felt dreadfully guilty about leaving the old man alone so much, but he did not dare neglect his duty. In addition, he had some problems he wanted to discuss with someone. Ordinarily he would have ridden down to Roselynde or to Iford for advice, but he felt he should not leave Sir Henry for the several days necessary.

  Simon disclaimed any knowledge of the management of land, but the truth was that he had absorbed a great deal of information simply by living with Ian and Alinor. After Sir Harold described the problem, Simon began to think he might have something useful to offer. There really was no need to hurry back to Wales if Rhiannon was willing to stay.

  Rarely had so simple, kind, and seemingly harmless a decision precipitated so much mischief. In the beginning, everything was innocent enough. Sir Henry was so flattered by Simon’s bringing his betrothed to visit and so enlivened by Rhiannon’s company that he took a new lease on life. Also, she suggested and taught a few new treatments to the maids who attended the old man, easing his pain. Seeing him so well, Sir Harold asked Simon if he would spend the night at a neighboring keep. A mild dispute over hunting in the forest west of Kingsclere had arisen. Sir Harold felt that the presence of his overlord’s son might lend force to his claim. Rhiannon was agreeable, and it was decided that Sir Harold and Simon would go the next day.

  There were times, after the king was forced to give orders to return de Burgh to the church, when the Bishop of Winchester wondered whether the task he had set himself was possible or worth doing. He had believed that when de Burgh was overthrown, little more would be necessary than to show Henry the way. He knew the king to be intelligent. He had not remembered, he now realized, that Henry was also less interested in governing than in music, art, and other amusements. He was controlled by his emotions, and of a weak and vacillating temperament made even more difficult by bouts of irrational and immovable stubbornness.

  Still Winchester struggled on. Partly, he admitted it was because he loved power, but there was also a real desire to reform and improve what he considered a chaotic and unworkable form of government. He had expected resistance, but not so much—and most of it was Henry’s fault. Like a child, the king seized an ideal envisioned for the future after years of slow preparation and expected it to work immediately. Then he reacted in fury when men objected to having their “rights” infringed on. He did not stop to think that he had not shown them first the great benefits that would ensue if they yielded to their king.

  It was Henry’s impatience and lack of restraint that had necessitated the use of force. Now they were committed to that path, which was the worst and most chancy. It was made even less certain because Henry was moved by odd impulses of chivalry—a total foolishness. One must use every weapon available.

  That thought recurred to Winchester one afternoon as the king fretted over his injuries. At the moment he had no outlet for his frustration; he had already sent out the summonses for the levy to punish Pembroke, and his ordinary pursuits bored him. He mentioned pettishly that Winchester’s presence even deprived him of his newest delight—the singing of Lady Rhiannon.

  Instantly Winchester remembered that the girl was not only an entertainer but Lord Llewelyn’s daughter and betrothed to Lord Ian’s son. He cursed himself for forgetting her, but there had been so much haste and worry… He was a fool for not laying hands on her at once, but Henry had been opposed to it—another chivalric idiocy. It would not have been necessary if they had been able to seize Pembroke. Now that that hope was gone, Lady Rhiannon might be very useful.

  She would be a strong weapon in the armory with which he intended to threaten Llewelyn to keep him from joining Pembroke. Winchester was not much worried about the danger the ragtag Welsh would provide. He was sure his disciplined, well-trained mercenary forces would be victorious whether the Welsh joined Pembroke or not, but there was no sense in fighting both if it was not necessary. The Roselynde clan would be bitterly angry, but they could do nothing while he held the girl, and afterward they would do nothing either. After all, no harm would come to Lady Rhiannon; she would be kept in the greatest luxury. All she would lose was a few months of freedom, and she might even come to like it; many women did enjoy a life of idleness with no responsibility. In any case, Ian had withstood worse assaults from John without rebelling.

  It had not occurred to anyone back in London that Simon and Rhiannon would spend more than one or two nights at Kingsclere. Therefore, when Roger de Cantelupe came from court two days after they left and asked that Rhiannon come to sing, Ian ans
wered blandly that his son had taken his betrothed home. The messenger was clearly distressed, but that did not bother Ian. Which way had they gone, Sir Roger asked. Ian never lied and could see no reason to arouse animosity by refusing to answer, since he was sure Simon would have left the keep long before the messenger could get to it. To Kingsclere first, he replied, and after that he had no idea.

  Had Ian known that Sir Roger came from Winchester rather than from the king, he would have said nothing, but the messenger had been intentionally deceitful—knowing how Winchester was regarded by most of the nobility—and Ian’s nature was trusting. Winchester was furious when he heard the bird had flown. Then he reconsidered. It would be better this way. No one would know for some time that he had taken the girl and the youngest cub of the lioness of Roselynde, except Llewelyn and Simon’s relatives. He would have two hostages and not need to trust to honor to keep Ian, Geoffrey, and Adam passive.

  He sent out a strong enough force to overpower Simon’s guard, but told Roger de Cantelupe on no account to show the troop at Kingsclere. Only Sir Roger himself was to enter there, and he was to discover which road Simon and Rhiannon had taken toward Wales. They should be easy enough to overtake. They would go slowly because of the woman, and they would have no suspicion that they were being followed. Every attempt should be made to convince them to return quietly. Any lie that would be useful would be absolved without penance, and any promise at all could be made in the king’s name.

  It was almost dark, but Sir Roger rode out anyway to satisfy the bishop’s eagerness. It was some time before he discovered that they had taken the wrong road in the dark. Sir Roger sensibly told his men to stop and make camp. At dawn he found a village and asked directions, but Kingsclere was not an important keep. Some honestly said they did not know; others, either fearing punishment if they confessed ignorance or out of self-importance, made wild guesses so that Sir Roger’s troop went even farther astray. About the time that Simon and Sir Harold were being welcomed with somewhat restrained cordiality at Highclere castle, Winchester’s messenger, cursing futilely, was still trying to discover whether Kingsclere keep was north, south, east, or west of him.