“We took the coastal road instead.”
“We?”
“I had an escort and a wagon for my things.”
An escort? It sounded as if when she left Cardiff, she was fleeing something. What had happened? Why would she not speak of it? He wished he could be alone with her, truly alone. Then he might be able convince her to trust him and tell him the whole tale. It worried him they were going to a place she seemed to fear and he did not know the reason for her dread.
But they were unlikely to have a chance to be alone tonight. They planned to stay at a priory, Llantarnam Abbey, and the Cisterian brothers would make certain a woman had separate accommodations from her male companions.
He was thinking hard about how to get Rhosyn alone, what excuse he could invent for them to stop and for the two of them to go off together. The next moment he was jerked back to awareness when he saw group of riders ahead.
They looked like everything he expected Welsh warriors to be: fierce and hostile, with long dark hair and thick mustaches. They wore leather jerkins but their arms and lower legs were bare. They bristled with weapons, including deadly bow and arrows, and rode small, sturdy horses.
The other knights drew up beside William. “What do we do?” Baldwin asked.
“I will go and speak with them.” He gestured to Rhosyn. “You must come with me and interpret.”
“Do you think that’s wise?” Stephen asked. “What if they try to seize you?”
“For what purpose?”
“To ransom you,” Stephen said.
“The other alternative is to turn and ride away. But we can’t travel quickly with the cart and then we would still have to be on guard every moment. You know how deadly they are with bow and arrow.”
He gestured to Rhosyn to approach. She had hung back when his knights surrounded him. They moved aside so she could ease her horse near. “Rhosyn, do you think I should go and speak to them? That we should go and converse with them?”
“I don’t know these men. I can’t say how they will respond.” She motioned to the knights gathered around. “I would keep your men close.”
William nodded, then urged his horse forward, gesturing for Rhosyn and his men to follow.
*
Rhosyn’s heart thudded wildly as they rode towards the troupe of warriors. She had been so focused on Cardiff and dealing with things there, she had not thought much of the potential dangers on the journey. But this was why Fitzhugh had brought her, to help him deal with her countrymen. She must try to negotiate passage for them through the local chieftain’s territory. It might not be easy.
The leader of the warriors was a hard-eyed, grim-looking warrior. Rhosyn halted near him and introduced herself. She explained who Fitzhugh was and that they were on a trading mission. She gestured to the cart they had brought as proof.
The warrior, who had curtly introduced himself as Geirant ap Cadoc, looked her up and down, his expression cold and unyielding. “Why should I listen to you, a Saesneg whore?”
Rhosyn exhaled sharply. She had never been shown such disrespect before, and by one of her own people. She thought of arguing she was not Fitzhugh’s leman. But that would serve no purpose. This man understood only one thing. She drew herself up. “Rhodri ap Emrys is my uncle. You might think twice before disparaging me.”
Geirant’s eyes narrowed. She could see he was assessing her words carefully. Finally, he spoke: “I had heard Rhodri’s niece was dead. Burned as a witch by that Saesneg scum, Bellame.”
“’Twas my mother who was burned. I escaped and left Cymru.”
“And took up with another bit of Saesneg scum.” Geirant jerked his head towards Fitzhugh.
“I had no choice but to seek a position outside my homeland. If I remained, Bellame might have caused trouble for my uncle for sheltering me.”
“But you didn’t have to bring your Saesneg master here. You didn’t have to bring the enemy into your homeland.”
“He’s only here to buy supplies; he has no intention of making trouble. All we seek is safe passage across these lands to travel to Cardiff. Lord Fitzhugh has no quarrel with the local chieftain. Who is that, by the way? What chieftain do you owe fealty to?”
“Cynan ap Ifan.”
She wondered if Ifan ap Emrys had passed on his authority to his son. But as she recalled, Ifan had two sons. She had not heard of this one. That was all they needed, to be caught between two of her countrymen fighting over control of their father’s territory. She fought to speak calmly. “All we ask is permission to cross Cynan’s lands.”
Gerient’s cold blue eyes regarded her steadily. “You can ask him yourself.”
Although she did not see Geirant give any signal, in seconds she and Fitzhugh were surrounded. She let out a gasp of fear. Her fear intensified as Fitzhugh’s knights charged forward. In seconds there was fighting all around her. Fitzhugh had pulled his sword and joined in. Rhosyn could do nothing but cling to her horse and try to stay out of the way.
But the fray did not last long. Geirant had miscalculated. The swords he and his men used were much shorter and their horses not used to mounted warfare. Fitzhugh’s men easily prevailed. Several of the Cymry fled, while others were knocked from their mounts. At least two of them appeared to be wounded, one of them gravely, she thought.
“Should we kill them and take their horses? Or simply take their horses?” demanded Baldwin, his sword pointed at one of the Cymry’s throats.
“Neither.” Fitzhugh called. He sounded a bit winded, but appeared unhurt. Indeed, none of the English seemed to be injured. “Let them go and tell their overlord that they have failed.”
“They could always follow at a distance, and try to pick us off with bow and arrow,” Gervaise pointed out.
“They could try. But from now on we will wear our helms, and I doubt they are such excellent shots they can do much damage to men in full armor. Not to mention, they must tend their injured.” To Rhosyn, he added, “Tell them to gather up their wounded and their horses and leave.”
Rhosyn translated his words and Fitzhugh and the other knights stood by as the remaining Cymry did as he had ordered. It took them a while. One man was bleeding heavily and had to be secured to his horse so he didn’t fall off. A warrior who had a wound to his sword arm was forced to ride pillion with another man, which was difficult since the small mountain ponies were not bred to carry two riders.
As a healer, Rhosyn was very concerned the two men might bleed to death before they got safely away and could be treated. She wanted to offer to help them, but that seemed foolish. These men had sought to take her and Fitzhugh prisoners, and while Cynan ap Ifan might have kept Fitzhugh alive to ransom him, he might also have killed him.
As soon as the Cymry were on their way, Fitzhugh gave the order to resume their journey. Rhosyn wanted to let him know how impressed she was with him and his men, to express her admiration for their battle prowess. But Fitzhugh’s manner was so cold and distant she kept silent.
He made no attempt to converse with her and when she asked him if the exertion of the skirmish had made his wound hurt, he responded very curtly. She was puzzled, until she suddenly realized what was wrong. He thinks I betrayed him. He thinks the Cymry attacked because of something I said.
The awareness shocked her, and also made her angry. She wanted to shout at him that if she wanted to see him captured, she could have made certain of it. In fact, she’d defended him and tried to convince her countrymen to let them pass by unmolested.
Her anger quickly turned to gloomy acceptance. Their people were enemies and naught could change that. He might allow her to treat his wound and save his life, but as soon as they passed into her homeland, he decided she could not be trusted. There could be nothing between them except physical attraction. She’d been a fool to think otherwise.
And he was right. He should not trust her. Their goals and loyalties were totally different. She would never be able to forget he was one of the hated Saesneg.
And he would never forget that she was one of the untrustworthy, savage Welsh.
Chapter Seventeen
Rhosyn’s resentment increased as they continued their journey. By the time the square tower of the chapel at Llanternam Abbey came into view, she was feeling very bitter. This might be a holy house, but it was also a sign of the English domination of her homeland. All the brothers would speak Norman French and the abbot would be a nobleman of their people.
They rode up to an ornate, arched gate. Behind the sandstone walls could be seen the chapel and a sprawl of buildings. Fitzhugh explained who he was and why they were traveling through and the porter bid them enter. Inside they were greeted by a white-robed brother. There was some discussion of what to do with Rhosyn. Apparently, the abbey was not used to accommodating women, at least not ones who were neither relatives nor wives of the men they traveled with.
Fitzhugh was taken to the guest house and his men were escorted to the dormitory. A young novice finally appeared and led Rhosyn to an anchorite cell, a small beehive shaped structure. The tiny building had a pallet and naught else.
“I will bring you food, of course, and water for washing.” The young monk, whose name was Cadoc, spoke apologetically.
“Where are you from?”
“I’m from Conwy in Gywnedd. My father is kin of Prince Llywelyn ap Iowarth.” Seeing the surprise on Rhosyn’s face, he added. “Not all men choose to be knights. I care little for warfare. For someone like me, this is the only pathway.”
Rhosyn had always thought of men as having much more freedom to choose their own destiny. But Cadoc was right, even a man from a noble household had limited choices. He could be a knight or join a holy order. There were no other alternatives.
“Do you work in the scriptorium?” She had heard of monks who spent their days creating documents and copying books.
“Not yet. I only arrived here this spring. For now I am mostly assigned menial tasks. I spend a lot of time working in the gardens.”
Rhosyn knew that holy brothers had much knowledge of herbs and healing. “Do you think you could show me the part of the garden where herbs are grown? I am a healer and very interested in medicinal plants.”
“I would be happy to show you the garden. Although we should wait until vespers when everyone is at prayers.”
“Will you get in trouble for not attending prayers?”
Cadoc smiled. “Perhaps. But I can give the excuse that I was only trying to be a gracious host and respond to the wishes of a guest. And I am fortunate that the man I serve is not a harsh or rigid one. And as he is the infirmarian, he would likely understand your interest.”
Rhosyn felt a stir of excitement. “Do you ever help him prepare herbs? Would you be able to show me his stillroom?”
Cadoc nodded. “As I said, I am mostly given menial tasks. Weeding the garden. Grinding up herbs. But once in a while I am allowed to label the jars of medicine or assist Brother Eudo by making notations in the book he consults for dosage, or in treatment of his patients.”
Rhosyn thought of her mother’s grimoire. It would be wonderful if she could keep it in her stillroom and consult it or add to it from her own experiences. But many people did not understand the difference between healing lore and spells and magic. And the villagers would likely be very wary of her if they knew she could read and write. ’Twas was not a skill that women were supposed to possess.
The bell for vespers sounded and Cadoc nodded to her. Rhosyn deposited her traveling pack on the floor of the cell and followed the novice to the garden.
*
William sank down on the stool in the guest house and gestured for Baldwin to help him remove his hauberk. The guesthouse was not luxurious, although it was better furnished than William’s bedchamber at Higham. Besides the padded stool, there was a large bed, a prie-dieu, a table and two chairs, and a stand with a bowl for washing.
William peeled off his sweat-soaked gambeson.
“Does it pain you?” Baldwin motioned to his healing wound.
“A bit. What it mostly does is fatigue me. I vow, after the journey and the skirmish with the Welsh, I am weary.”
“But the fight went well. None of us got even a scratch and we trounced them completely.”
“Yea, we were fortunate.” William hesitated, then asked the question that had been nagging him since the encounter. “From observing the exchange between Rhosyn and the warrior, what do you think she said to them? Do you think she encouraged them to attack us, or tried to argue to let us pass by unmolested?”
“I could not tell, milord. Why? Do you have reason to think she would betray us? I thought…that is…” Baldwin raised an auburn brow.
“That we were lovers?”
Baldwin nodded.
“Such a relationship is no proof against treachery.”
Baldwin shrugged. “She seemed to be very thorough and careful with your wound.”
“She did the same for the miller and his son. I think part of her training is that she must treat all who need aid, even if she feels nothing for them. I had the sense she wanted to see to the wounded Welshmen even though they had tried to take me prisoner and perhaps worse.”
“’Twill be awkward to have her on this journey if you no longer trust her.”
Awkward was the least of it. The idea that Rhosyn cared nothing for him was like a knife blade to the heart.
“Mayhaps you should confront her, milord. Insist she tell you exactly what she spoke of with her countrymen. If you were insistent, you might be able frighten her into revealing her true feelings.”
Instilling fear was not the way to get anywhere with Rhosyn. Or perhaps anyone. He would need to approach the matter from another direction. That is, if he even wanted to know the truth. What good would it do, anyway? He could not leave her here, with no way to return to Higham. And it was important she return to Higham. They needed her healing skills.
That was the problem. Even if he had direct proof she had behaved treacherously, there was little he could do. If he didn’t allow her to return to Higham, the people there would suffer. She was a good healer and he felt certain she would put that responsibility above anything else.
And he didn’t suspect her of having anything to do with the Welsh raids on Higham. ’Twould be witless of her to encourage her countrymen to set fire to the mill and then try to save the lives of those who were injured. It was only as they traveled into her homeland that he began to doubt her. He still did not understand why she had changed her mind about coming with them and serving as interpreter.
He realized Baldwin was still sweltering in his own armor. “Go. Join the other men. We will likely eat in the refectory after vespers.”
After Baldwin left, William washed in the small bowl of water provided. The water revived him. By the time he had dug in his pack for his tunic and put it on, he decided Baldwin was right; he must speak to Rhosyn and confront her. And the sooner, the better. Once they were traveling again, it would be awkward to take her aside for a private conversation. He must do it here, although he knew it was against the rules of the holy brothers. As soon as the brothers had learned he and Rhosyn were not wed, they had made certain to arrange separate accommodations.
He left the guesthouse and tried to decide where the novice assigned to Rhosyn might have taken her. Some obscure place they lodged female guests so they did not have any contact with the brothers. It seemed like a very silly rule to William, as if the mere sight of a woman might corrupt the monks. Although in a sense, that was what had happened to him. One glimpse of Rhosyn and he had been smitten. Even now, thinking she might have betrayed him, he still longed for her.
That was why he must speak to her here, in a place that was very much of his world. He had little power here, but she had none.
The abbey grounds were extensive. Not only were there all the different structures used for the various activities of the monks, but also all sorts of outbuildings for growing and preparing food and keeping liv
estock: a barn, stables, creamery, brewery, a baking house.
But they would not lodge Rhosyn in any of those places. They would take her somewhere private and where only a few senior brothers might venture. He had the sudden thought that if there were no brothers who were sick, they might house her in the infirmary, since it had sleeping accommodations. But which one of the many structures was the infirmary?
He’d only visited a handful of abbeys in his lifetime, and never a Cisterian one. But they had seemed to be laid out in similar fashion. As he recalled, the infirmary was usually near the cloister garden, to make it easier to gather medicinal plants. He wondered if Rhosyn had had an opportunity to look at the garden. It seemed like something she would be interested in.
He sought out the garden, which was located—based on the smell of baking bread—near the bakehouse. There was another building nearby, with windows on one end. He entered and found a large room with several beds. Hearing voices, he followed the sound to an adjoining room. There he found Rhosyn with a young man, who was obviously still a novice, as he had no tonsure. The man was handsome and looked Welsh. William’s jealousy was instant.
Rhosyn reacted with surprise. “Lord Fitzhugh! What are you doing here?”
“I need to speak to you.” He gestured to the young monk. “Alone.”
Rhosyn’s voice was tight. “This is Cadoc. He was showing me how they prepare and store herbs.”
William looked around and realized they were in a room much like the one in Rhosyn’s cottage where she prepared her medicines. There was a table with several bowls, a mortar and pestle and a small scale. There were also some drying herbs along the wall.
“I am sorry to interrupt. But I need to speak to you.”
Rhosyn nodded to the young man, to indicate he should leave them. As he started from the room, she called, “Thank you, Cadoc.”
She faced William, her expression stiff. She was angry with him. Was it because he had interrupted a discussion about herbs, something that was important to her? Or was there something between her and Cadoc?
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