Rhiannon

by Roberta Gellis

  “No, Pembroke would take him gladly, I think. Anyway, that would not be our problem. I am not fool enough to involve Prince Llewelyn in such a matter without his permission.” He explained about handing de Burgh over to Gilbert Bassett. “But where to find Bassett is beyond me. He should be in the neighborhood of Devizes, hoping for a chance to get at de Burgh, but I cannot go around openly asking the whereabouts of a rebel and an outlaw.”

  But Simon was making a problem where there was none. In the end, Gilbert Bassett found him. Simon should have realized the rebel leader would not long remain unaware of a large, armed group traveling furtively cross country. They avoided villages, climbing the forested, desolate hills and camping in a fold of the downs about ten miles from Devizes.

  There had been game on the way, brought down by the quick Welsh bowmen, and they ate well. Sleeping, however, was another matter. Although neither had mentioned it, and it had been covered by the talk of rescuing de Burgh, both Simon and Rhiannon were hungry for each other. As it grew dark, flickering glances crossed, but did not meet. Rhiannon was aware that she could not accept Simon’s lovemaking without reiterating that the question of marriage was closed. To invite Simon to take her without a clear statement of the situation would be a deliberate deception. Yet to make the statement must force Simon back into his original position—no hope of marriage, no physical love.

  In this case, Rhiannon had misunderstood Simon. His mind was moving on another track completely. He had assumed that Rhiannon’s growing silence and stiffness were owing to unwillingness. As soon as she began to withdraw into herself, he had remembered the bitter challenge she had flung at him in Oxford. We will see whose hunger conquers. He was hungry—very, but a man has his pride. He did not wish to humble Rhiannon. He wanted to think of some device that could bring them to a mutual yielding, which would be equally a mutual conquest.

  Unfortunately, the ache in his loins blurred his mind and the ache in his throat blurred his eyes. Eventually, stiff and silent, Rhiannon rose and went into Simon’s tent. If he had not been so wrapped in his misery and his need, he could have risen at the same time and taken her hand. A single pressure of the fingers would have solved the problem. But the opportunity passed. Simon sat on by the fire, talking desultorily with Siorl. Then he went to bed—but not to sleep.

  Both rose heavy-eyed and silent, miserable, seeking hopelessly for a way to explain. But the more eager each was to mend the rift, the wider the chasm looked. Suddenly, as the men ate the cold meat with which they were breaking their fast, a rush of bird whistles burst out from north and west. Simon leapt to his feet and began to issue low-voiced commands to his captains. Armed parties were approaching from two directions.

  Chapter Twenty-Two

  The bird calls diminished slowly, retreating southward and eastward in a most natural manner. By the time the armed troops converged on Simon’s campsite, there was nothing to be seen there except the cookfires burning away cheerfully and the trodden earth. Many tracks—horses’ and men’s—led into a small wooded area just behind the open field. The armed troops moved forward quickly, then the leader pulled his horse to a stop just inside the trees as a singing voice called something he could not understand from above.

  “As I live and breathe,” Simon said, stepping out from behind the trees, “I have been wondering for a full day how I would find you, and you have found me. I am Simon de Vipont. You are Gilbert Bassett from your arms, are you not?”

  The leader pushed back his helmet. “De Vipont! What the devil are you doing sneaking through the woods, and where are your men?”

  Simon laughed. “Around and above. Half of you would be dead already if I wished you ill. You have a look of your brother.”

  Bassett had stiffened at Simon’s warning, then relaxed and smiled. “Ah, yes. Philip has written about your Welshmen, but you do not say what you do here so secretly or why.”

  “A long story. Will you trust me and bid your men dismount? And by the by, how did you find us? I thought we came quietly enough.”

  After an eye blink’s hesitation, Bassett ordered most of his troop to retreat and be at rest. The others rode back to the campsite and also dismounted, although they cast nervous glances at the woods around them.

  “As to how I knew where you were,” Bassett said to Simon as he came down from his horse, “you passed by the grazing meadows of Upavon and a shepherd saw you. The king may disseisin me, but he cannot change the hearts of my people.”

  “That is true. I am glad you are so well served.” Then Simon turned and cheerfully called out to someone hiding on the branch of a large tree. The branches parted and Siorl dropped to the ground lightly. His bow was strung, but the nocked arrow now drooped negligently from his hand. He replied shortly and sharply to Simon’s remark, which made Simon laugh. “I asked him how come we were seen,” Simon explained to Bassett. “Siorl prides himself on not being seen.”

  “Shepherds have long sight and are accustomed to watching for stealthy movement,” Bassett suggested.

  “No, that was not Siorl’s excuse. He said there is no way to hide fifty-two horses.”

  Reminded, Bassett looked around, but there was neither sight nor, what was far more puzzling, sound of a horse. It was a small wood. Bassett did not think it possible to keep fifty horses so quiet that they could not be heard.

  “But it seems you have done it,” he remarked.

  “Not I,” Simon said, grinning. “That is Lady Rhiannon’s skill.”

  Simon called another command and shadows began to drop from the trees and slide out of the brush. A long bird call trilled into the distance. Bassett watched with hard eyes, accepting the fact that he had ridden into a trap and his troop could have taken heavy losses without ever having even seen their enemies. It was something to remember. But what startled him most was when Rhiannon came through the trees, her skirt looped up to mid-thigh for running and her hand on Ymlladd’s neck. Unbound, the other horses followed, all silent except for the sound of their hooves on the earth. Gilbert Bassett’s mouth dropped open.

  “This is my betrothed wife, Lady Rhiannon uerch Llewelyn,” Simon said.

  Lovely as she was, Rhiannon scarcely looked like an elegant, high-bred lady. However, she came forward, gave Ymlladd’s rein to Simon, and extended her hand in regal greeting without the slightest self-consciousness about her naked legs or the leaves and twigs in her hair, which she had not yet wimpled for riding. Bassett swallowed. When she moved away from them, the horses began to nod and blow with nervousness, and the men led them away. He recalled that Simon had said Lady Rhiannon had kept the horses quiet, but he had thought that some kind of private joke.

  “Sir Gilbert?” Rhiannon said, in a perfectly normal, pleasant voice, marked by a faint puzzlement at his immobility.

  Recalled to himself, Bassett bowed over Rhiannon’s hand with grace, and then what Simon had said penetrated his shock and assumed greater importance than the behavior of some horses. “Uerch Llewelyn?” he echoed. “Are you daughter to the Lord of Gwynedd? But I— Ah, a natural daughter.”

  Rhiannon inclined her head.

  “And betrothed to Simon de Vipont?”

  “Why not, Sir Gilbert?” Simon asked. “Prince Llewelyn is my overlord and my father is his clan brother. That is part of the reason we are moving so quietly rather than riding the roads, but what you should have remembered about me is that I was squire to William, Earl of Pembroke, and my family has been close-tied in love to the Marshals for many years.”

  For the first time Bassett relaxed completely. “Yes, I should have remembered. Are you in flight to Richard?”

  “Not exactly in flight. I am not proscribed, but apparently it came into Winchester’s mind that Lady Rhiannon would make a prime hostage for her father’s behavior. It is not true, but Winchester does not understand the Welsh.”

  “He does not understand anything,” Bassett snarled.

  “I think you are right. Nonetheless, he has offended me,
and it is in my mind that I can use his ignorance to increase his problems and to have my revenge. The Bishop of Winchester, for some reason, fears Hubert de Burgh, and I would like to see him free.”

  There was a long moment of silence. Then Bassett said, “Are you offering to join your troop to ours in an attempt to rescue him? I would be more than happy to accept and would be very grateful, but I must warn you that our hopes of success are small. The garrison of Devizes will be down on us before we can hope to take the Earl of Kent away.”

  Simon noted that Bassett, who was indebted to him, gave de Burgh his title as Earl of Kent, but he did not comment on that. All he said was, “Not if they do not know he is gone.”

  “The church is close-guarded day and night,” Bassett remarked with a touch of contempt at the foolishness of a young man. “I have friends who watch and send me word. Believe me, there is no way to reach him without raising an alarm.”

  “Perhaps not,” Simon agreed, “but I think there may be. If you will tell me whatever you know about the way the guards are stationed and relieved, I think my men can slip through and bring de—I mean, Kent—and his companions out.”

  There was another silence while Bassett absorbed this. His expression, unguarded now, wavered between enthusiasm and disbelief. Then a certain look of cunning came into his eyes. If only Simon’s men were involved, he would have lost nothing, even if the effort failed. He would do what he could to help, even what he could to support and protect any who escaped, but his own force would be untouched and ready to try again if such a possibility arose. One other problem had to be brought to Simon’s attention, however.

  “We think Kent is weak and sick,” Bassett said.

  “So I guessed from his age and the treatment he has had,” Simon acknowledged. “Also I assume he has been starved since entering the church. But that does not make much difference,” Simon assured him. “He could not slip out softly enough, even if he were whole and strong. We will have to quiet the guards on the side of the church where we come out. I will need men to replace them. Mine cannot speak English at all or French well enough to fool anyone.”

  Bassett blinked. Simon sounded so sure that he was beginning to believe this himself. “This is not a forest,” he said after a moment.

  Simon turned his head and translated Bassett’s warning to Siorl. The Welsh master-at-arms answered with a brief, contemptuous sentence. Simon did not translate it specifically, he only said that Siorl was sure it could be done. Bassett was not completely convinced, but he had already decided that he had little to lose in the attempt. He put out his hand.

  “I am more grateful than I can say,” Bassett remarked. “If there is any way in which I can return this favor in the future, it will be done. For now, would you like to come into my camp? We have a secure place closer to our goal, and I think Lady Rhiannon will be more comfortable there.”

  He looked around and did not see her. Bassett had been so concentrated on what Simon was offering that he had not heard Rhiannon move away. Now he had a moment of anxiety, wondering whether the men in his camp would take her for a new drab that had arrived. He wondered whether he dared tell Simon to hint that she had better be careful of her dress, but when Simon called and she came out of his tent, Bassett breathed a sigh of relief. Her skirt was down, her hair bound in a tight net, and her look was that of a perfect lady.

  Indeed, Rhiannon’s manner was so ordinary that Bassett began to find all sorts of reasons for the brief vision he had had of her as something different. In fact, he almost forgot about her entirely because she was so quiet the entire time the details of the rescue were being discussed. Simon’s men and those who would pretend to be guards were chosen. The mechanics of entering the church, searching out the three prisoners, and convincing them it was not a trap were outlined. This last had involved Bassett personally in the business. He did not hesitate to offer himself. By now he was convinced there was a good chance of success, and Richard Siward would lead his men until his brother could take them over if the mission failed. All was smooth as silk until the escape was planned.

  “It comes to this,” Bassett said. “Is it less dangerous to send enough men to carry all three a substantial distance or to have the horses close enough?”

  “Why should it be dangerous to have the horses close so long as they are out of sight?” Rhiannon asked.

  Bassett smiled indulgently at so innocent a question. His mind had already rationalized the brief, impossible vision of Rhiannon with her hand on the great, vicious destrier’s neck and a whole troop of horses following docilely as sheep.

  “Because a single snort or whinny would warn the guards as clearly as seeing a troop of men.”

  “The horses will make no sound,” Rhiannon said. “I will be with them.”

  There was a silence. Bassett was stunned. He did not wish to remember what he had seen; it was unhealthy to think evil of Llewelyn ap Iowerth’s daughter or the betrothed of the youngest son of the Roselynde clan, but if he could not allow that thought, then he must be enraged by the woman’s silliness. Simon was simply considering the suggestion. It had not occurred to him to bring Rhiannon along, but now that she had suggested it, his mind was busy with the possibilities generated.

  “How many can you keep quiet?” Simon asked.

  Bassett turned purple and made a peculiar sound, but neither Simon nor Rhiannon paid any attention.

  “That depends on how quiet you want them. This morning I found a drop in the ground, so it was only necessary to keep them together and I could speak to them softly. If you mean they must not snort or stamp and I must keep silence, then I need to be close enough to touch each often. Ten or perhaps twelve, I could manage. But Simon, the Welsh can go back on foot. They will even be safer that way, I think.”

  “You are right,” Simon agreed. “I should have thought of that myself. “Good.” He turned to Bassett. “Three of my men, myself, you, Lady Rhiannon, and four of yours to take the place of guards. That makes ten. Is there something wrong, Sir Gilbert?”

  “With me?” Bassett exploded. “No! But I think you must have lost your mind.”

  “Why? I assure you it will take no more than three of my men and myself to dispose of the guards. Two could—”

  “Sir Simon, I am not talking about the men.” Bassett’s voice rose to a roar. “You cannot bring a woman along on such an enterprise.”

  “Why not?” Simon asked. “Rhiannon can control the horses, and I will be there to protect her. No one expects her to fight.”

  “I could bring my bow,” Rhiannon suggested innocently, teasing.

  “No,” Simon objected. “I do not want anyone killed if it is possible to avoid it. You will get carried away and shoot too straight.”

  Bassett choked again. “You are insane. She will scream or start to chatter at the wrong moment, or—”

  “No, indeed I will not,” Rhiannon protested. “My brother David has often taken me on raids—”

  She broke off suddenly and put her hand over her mouth. Llewelyn did not control her, but he did control David. It was true Llewelyn would not hesitate to thrust his daughter into danger if he thought it would benefit Gwynedd, but he would never expose her on a petty raid merely so that more goods and/or men could be carried away. That was not why David and Rhiannon had done it originally—he was mischievous and she, curious—but the mercenary motive had induced them to repeat the adventure. If Llewelyn discovered what David had done, he would be punished.

  Looking at her stricken expression, Simon thought she realized that going raiding with her half brother had been unwise. However, David was not the wisest or most scrupulous of men. He often reached for immediate profit without considering the long-term effects of his actions. Then Simon grinned self-consciously. He was not much better himself, and he was planning to make use of the effect of David’s inconsiderate actions. Under the circumstances he uttered no reproof.

  This, combined with his smile, convinced Rhiannon not only
that Simon would not betray David to her father, which was quite true, but that he did not disapprove of her ventures, which was not true at all. It convinced Bassett, too, and unlocked the memory of Ymlladd biting and kicking at the grooms in the camp in contrast with the stallion walking gentle as a lamb by Rhiannon’s side. He withdrew his objections, but he looked sidelong at Rhiannon and had a tendency to try to stay on the opposite side of the group when they rode out of camp that night.

  They left as soon as it was dark. Every hour extra that de Burgh was imprisoned would further weaken him with hunger and thirst. Thirty of Bassett’s men and all of Simon’s rode together to within a mile north of the town, clinging to the wooded slopes of Roundway Hill. All arms and harnesses had been padded and dirtied so that there would be no jingle or gleam of warning. About a half-mile to the west was the road to Chippenham and Malmsbury. If the rescue was successful and there was no alarm, Bassett’s men would take de Burgh along that road.

  When Simon’s master-at-arms felt that the men and horses were as well concealed as possible, the small group of rescuers remounted. It was not the best night for such an enterprise. Simon had prayed for rain, a steady, miserable drizzle, but his prayers had not been answered. Still, it was not the worst night, either. The moon was only one-quarter full, and there was a sharp, cold breeze, which sent clouds scurrying across its face. Shadows flickered and skipped across any open space. Simon hoped that a few more shadows would not be alarming.

  Bassett had been dumbfound at the preparations Simon and his men made—the blackening of their faces and hands with soot, the mottling of plain leather tunics which replaced Simon’s mail and his men’s plate-sewn jerkins, the laying aside of all weapons except long poniards and strangling cords, and the smearing of any solid-colored horse with light and dark blotches.