Rhiannon

by Roberta Gellis

  There was to be no killing, Simon had ordered. The men grumbled a little because the silence of the dead was assured; that of the living had to be ascertained by effort. But the grumbles were smiling ones as they were accustomed to their lord’s softness, and they made ready cloths for gagging and thongs for binding. Then Siorl and Echtor set out on foot to do a little spying. Silence lay heavy. The orders had been uncompromising. Any man who made a sound louder than soft breathing would get his throat slit—and Simon’s soft-footed Welsh prowled round and about so that no one dared to whisper lest the shadow behind him take note and report. Rhiannon also moved about, stroking and murmuring to the ten horses that were to go. If someone leaned close, he might hear her voice. A foot away it could not be distinguished from the breeze moving the bushes and leaves.

  In half an hour, without sign or sound, Siorl and Echtor reappeared. They made two brief gestures, and Simon nodded to Bassett. Everything was as he had expected it to be, and the Welshmen had removed two men who were patrolling the periphery of the area. The ten chosen remounted and rode south and then a little west, picking their way around farms and through coppices so that they would not alarm the dogs. There was one bad section, where open land had to be crossed to reach the sanctuary of the small grove of trees that surrounded the churchyard.

  Eventually they were all in the shelter of the trees again, not a secure shelter because the grove was thin, many of the leaves fallen. Still, the trunks of the trees and the brush with the few leaves that remained moved fretfully in the erratic breeze; these broke the lines of horse and man and turned them into something unrecognizable, part of the shifting shadows.

  One by one the men dismounted. As each did, Rhiannon touched his horse, uttering a faint cooing sound of reassurance. When all were afoot they moved away cautiously until they were opposite the side of the church where the cemetery lay. The animals stood like rocks. Looking back over his shoulder, Simon nodded with satisfaction. Following his glance, Bassett had to restrain a gasp of surprise. Even though he knew where they were, the horses had disappeared. He could not even hear them breathing, let alone the normal stamping and blowing of an idle horse.

  That was not the last of his surprises, but self-discipline kept him quiet even when Simon and his three Welsh stepped out into the graveyard and also disappeared. He had been so sure that, because he knew where they were, he would be able to follow their progress. Frustrated, he turned his eyes to the guards, whom he could see as darker shadows moving against the solid bulk of the church. There were two, and both seemed at ease, unaware of what was approaching. Then one moved slightly forward and began to stare fixedly into the graveyard.

  For the first few seconds, Bassett was tense, expecting the man to cry an alarm. He was sure the guard had seen him, but the tableau remained fixed. Then Bassett suffered that irrational impulse to leap out and dance and scream which affects any person who lies hidden when a watcher’s eyes seem to fix on his place of concealment; instead, Bassett gritted his teeth and prayed that the men with him would not yield to the urge he felt. He tore his eyes away.

  Horses are nervous beasts, but these were accustomed to men, and it took little effort to put them into a state near sleeping. Rhiannon had prepared them well. All were fully fed and contented. A touch and a murmur sent them off into whatever state it was that permitted them to remain on their feet when they were completely at rest. All ten responded immediately, so that Rhiannon had time to turn and watch Simon and his men disappear into the graveyard. She was able, in fact, to follow Simon’s movements, which were not quite as smooth and practiced as those of the others.

  Nonetheless, Rhiannon was intensely proud of him, and she suddenly realized she was not afraid. What Simon was doing was very dangerous, yet she felt no fear. It was odd. She should be afraid. She was excited, yes, but the sensation was intensely pleasurable, nearly sexual in its effect. She had not felt that when she went with David, although she had enjoyed those ventures also. Was that because she cared less for David?

  She lost sight of Simon, but the excitement did not diminish. It had little to do with the persons involved—except herself, she soon discovered. The excitement was generated by the danger. It was more acute, sensually thrilling, because of her own closeness. When she had quieted horses for David, she had always been well away from the immediate scene of action. The horses were brought forward to carry loot and the men led or rode them to the scene of action only after the attack was already successful. This time Rhiannon could see the surprise itself, and whatever would happen would happen to her also. It was a revelation to her. For the first time in her life she understood why many men loved war more than they loved women. There was a kind of sense in it. Rhiannon could understand how a man might come to crave the pounding excitement that pulsed in her—especially when a man could get rich at the same time. It was no wonder that men could not be weaned from war.

  * * * * *

  As he slipped forward among the tombstones, Simon warned himself never to set up anything in or near a church. The graveyard was an open invitation to ambush. He could have brought an army across it. It was even better than a forest because the grass was scythed close and raked. There was no chance of stepping on a twig or brittle leaf and having the snap or crackle warn a wary enemy. In any case, these enemies were watching for a surprise attack in force, not for a few men slipping through the dark.

  Simon reached the last tall standing stone and waited. Off to the side, there was a faint scratching. He wondered whether a neighborhood cat was cooperating with them, then smiled to himself. More likely it was Siorl. The guard’s head turned and he took a single step forward, staring hard. Simon did not grin for fear his teeth would gleam, but he was laughing inside as he slipped from the stone, crouched low, and scuttled quickly into the dark area right against the wall of the church. Two steps, three…the strangling cord was ready in his hands.

  To the anxious watchers it seemed that the guard had momentarily stepped back into the deeper shadows near the wall. Almost simultaneously the second guard did the same, but the first was already coming forward. Bassett was obscurely disappointed. When the guards had disappeared into the dark like that, he had thought they had been taken. It was too soon, he told himself. Waiting always made time seem long, and such invisible movement must be slower than normal.

  Even as he braced himself for more waiting, a hand touched his arm. Bassett barely restrained a cry. Despite knowing, he had been startled by the near-invisibility of the mottled clothing and blackened face and hand. He was being beckoned forward, drawn from shadow to shadow. But the guards…

  Only the guards were Simon and Echtor, wearing the helmets of the men they had strangled into unconsciousness. Siorl fetched two of Bassett’s men-at-arms and prodded them into taking the places of Simon and Echtor while Simon led Bassett forward and helped him lift the bar that locked the back door. All the fittings had already been liberally coated with goose grease, and the two men, raising the bar straight up, freed the door with no more than the faintest of creaks. Simon lifted the latch and opened the door minutely, then more, then more, less than an inch at a time, feeling gently for sticky spots on the hinges that would squeal or squeak. When he had it opened sufficiently for Bassett to pass through, he took no further chance.

  Siorl had come back and was standing behind him, so Simon knew all was secure. He followed Bassett into the church and Siorl closed the door quietly. It was dark inside. Since no one was allowed to enter, there were no candles burning to the saints. Simon began to wonder how they would find their men, but that, too, was easy. One of the men snored like a hive of demented bees. He and Sir Gilbert picked their way carefully in the direction of the sound.

  There was no need to worry about low voices. Hunger must often keep the three men awake, and presumably they talked or prayed. However, he hoped that waking the men and the explanations would not take long. In fact, there was no hesitation. As soon as de Burgh recognized Bassett,
he began to weep silently and raise his hands in thanks. Since they had nothing to take—they had been brought back to the church with barely enough clothing for decency and surely not enough for warmth—they had only to rise and follow Simon to the back of the church. Here he said one soft word in Welsh and the door began to open. When they were out, the bar was replaced.

  There could be no question of de Burgh’s running through the churchyard. He had barely made it to the door. Without discussion, Simon lifted him to Bassett’s shoulders. Echtor had drawn William de Millers’ arm over his shoulder, and Simon did the same with Thomas the Chamberlain’s. Siorl followed the group, stepping back­ward and watching for any sign of alarm.

  The silence was not so absolute now. Twice Simon had to put a hand over Thomas’ mouth, and de Burgh was sobbing softly. When they reached the trees, Bassett set his burden down.

  “He is too weak—” de Miller began.

  “There are horses,” Simon replied, removing the hand with which he had stemmed Thomas’ speech. Now he realized what it was that the two young men had been so eager to say. “Be quiet,” he added. “Sound travels in the quiet of the night.”

  His voice did not travel far, but Rhiannon heard. She came stepping softly through and around the brush by a path she had marked out earlier, and behind her, one at a time, as if they were ensorcelled, the horses followed, not even switching their tails. She touched Simon when she came near. It was only meant as a greeting, but both their breaths caught. It was as if a hot spark of lightning jumped between them carrying bold spices and bright colors that assaulted every sense.

  Bassett had looked, and then looked away, as the horses filed along behind Rhiannon. She had one hand still on Ymlladd’s forehead and had placed her other hand on Sir Gilbert’s own stallion’s neck. Now she ran her hands down to the horses’ noses and pressed lightly. Simon rose into the saddle of his mount and Bassett lifted de Burgh and then, while a man held him, got up behind. Then Rhiannon drew forward one of the men-at-arms’ horses. Simon signaled to William de Millers, and one of the Welshmen helped him into the saddle. When they were all mounted, the Welshmen started back at a steady lope.

  The silence was as deep now as when they had arrived. It was like a thick, wet blanket and had taken so firm a hold on the rescued men that even de Burgh’s sobbing was stilled. Simon began to pick his way out of the thin patch of trees. His eyes were on the ground, choosing a path where the fallen leaves were thick and would muffle the sound of the hooves. Nonetheless, he could see Rhiannon quite clearly, her green eyes alight, her lips full and hard as if he had been kissing them. She knows, he thought, and his own excitement multiplied until he feared he would have a physical reaction.

  He could not permit himself to submit to that luscious tide of sensation nor even to think what effect Rhiannon’s new understanding might have on their relationship. Now he had to concentrate on bringing them back to the main group at the foot of Roundway Hill. There was the one open area. Simon gestured to Bassett, who was holding de Burgh, to go first. De Millers and Thomas the Chamberlain followed with Siorl, then Rhiannon. Simon and the others brought up the rear. In case there was an alarm, they would have been ready to silence it. The maneuver was successful, however, and the rest was easier. Soon they were safe in the woods of Roundway Hill.

  Bassett and his men did not dismount. Hardly waiting for his troop to get to their horses, he started west toward the Chippenham road. There was no need for farewells or thanks, each knew what had been accomplished and what it was worth. Simon had no idea where they would go, but he did not want to know. Now that the adventure was over, he was extremely glad to be separated from it. During the ride from the church back to the main troop, while he was filling his mind to avoid thinking of Rhiannon, Simon had imagined the disaster he might have created for his family if he had been caught. He was eager to go, to get out of the area altogether so it would be impossible to associate him with the escape.

  As they withdrew from the danger, Rhiannon’s excitement faded. The glance she had exchanged with Simon had been the last flicker of it. Now it was over, and she was aware of a sense of loss, of flatness and depression. Before she realized what she was doing, she began casting about in her mind for a new adventure. The desire brought another revelation to enforce the first. One could become addicted to danger, she thought.

  Simon in the meantime was shifting impatiently in the saddle, waiting for the two men who had given up their horses to de Millers and Chamberlain to get back to them. The slight movement drew Rhiannon’s attention. She wondered whether Simon was also feeling the letdown that afflicted her. It was better to make love, she thought suddenly. When that pleasure had passed, there was peace and contentment.

  The two for whom they waited appeared, took the horses held for them, and the troop moved off. Simon went east instead of west around the base of Roundway Hill. One reason was that he wished to divorce himself as much as possible from Bassett’s group. Also, from Marlborough there was a road to Cirencester and Gloucester where the Severn became fordable. West of Gloucester, the king’s power was greatly diminished. There were some loyal barons, but most would look the other way when a fugitive from the king rode by, and some were outright rebels who would help.

  They did not go as far as the town, since Simon did not wish to approach any inhabited place from the west. Instead, they camped south of it. This was not entirely safe but was better than riding into a town at this time of night or riding around it in the dark. That would seem furtive and be certain to draw notice. As soon as they found a stream, Simon ordered that a camp be set up and patrols be sent out to warn them of any approaching troop. Then he went down to the water to wash the greasy soot from his face and hands. It occurred to him that Rhiannon had been unusually silent during the ride, and then, vividly, he recalled her expression when he had returned with de Burgh. Fatigue evaporated under a wave of desire—but would she be willing? And if he made the advance and she yielded, would she consider that some form of victory? Did he care?

  The answer to the last question clarified everything. The truth was that Simon did not care. So long as Rhiannon was willing, she could win every battle; Simon knew he would still win the war. There was only one danger. Although Rhiannon was sensual and plainly enjoyed lovemaking, she had a will as strong as tempered steel. She might still refuse him! Simon flicked the cold drops from fingers and face and hurried back to the camp. He was a fool. He should have sent the men ahead and taken her while she was still aroused by danger.

  There was no sign of her when he arrived at the camp. Simon gritted his teeth and hurried toward his tent. If she was already abed, his problem would be enormously increased. He threw back the tent flap and rushed in, only to be brought up short by the sight of Rhiannon sitting quietly on a stool waiting for him.

  “What is it?” she asked tensely, jumping to her feet in response to his precipitous entrance.

  “Only my impatience to be with you,” Simon replied.

  She put out a hand to him, at the same time beginning to say, “Simon, I must—”

  But she never finished. The extended hand was sufficient invitation. Simon pulled her close and kissed her, finding himself trembling with eagerness as if he were a green boy with his first woman. Rhiannon responded immediately. Simon could feel her press forward against him, and her mouth opened to draw in his tongue. Yet, even while her desire made her draw him closer, tightening her arms around him, her head moved slightly as if she felt she should draw away.

  Simon tried to slip a hand between them to untie the neck of her tunic so that he could kiss her throat and eventually her breasts, but the moment he relaxed the pressure of his embrace, she freed her mouth.

  “I must tell you,” she gasped.

  “Not now, for sweet Mary’s sake,” Simon groaned. “Later. Tell me later.”

  He pulled her closer again, and she did not resist, only whispered in a troubled way, “But Simon—”

  “I am
afire,” he pleaded. “I do not care.”

  He muted her again with kisses, and this time when he eased his grip to loosen her clothing Rhiannon did not try to speak but slid her hands down to his buttocks to pull his pelvis tighter against hers. She had tried three times to warn him that the yielding of her body did not imply any change in her mind. She would be glad to appease her hunger and his; it was Simon who had always insisted that the intention of marriage and permanent union accompany lovemaking. Rhiannon felt a little guilty. She knew she had not tried very hard to tell him, but she wanted him so much.

  As Simon untied her tunic, she slid her hands forward and fumbled for the knot of his chausses string. One hand touched his swollen shaft, and Simon gasped. Rhiannon was distracted. When she touched him and felt his reaction, that stimulated her own pulsing pleasure and she wished to touch him again. But if she served that desire, she could not undress him, which was the direct path to even greater joy.

  Simon was similarly distracted between two goals. He hated to make love in a half-clothed scramble. There was something ugly about taking a woman with her skirts turned up over her face and his own chausses down and undone, binding his knees or ankles. He wanted to take off Rhiannon’s clothes and his own and couple decently, cushioned by his cloak and covered by hers. However, for the first time in many, many years Simon was too eager, too excited to wait. Rhiannon’s touch had raised his desire to a pitch that was painful. He also wanted to fling her down and drive into her to still her aching craving and his own. Torn between desire and desire, he hesitated, shaking with passion.

  “Pendeuic! Penn Emrys!” Siorl’s voice was nearly a scream, and he beat on the fabric of the tent so that it vibrated around them.

  Simon jumped. He realized that for several minutes he had been blocking noises he did not want to hear from the camp outside. Still, he could not bear to release Rhiannon. “What?” he called hoarsely, more for the sake of clinging to her yielding warmth for another second or two than because he did not know the answer.