Rhiannon (35 page)

Sensitized by past experience, Sir Roger stopped often to
ask the route, which further slowed their progress. It was not until the late
afternoon that they reached Newbury. There, everyone knew Kingsclere keep, and
Sir Roger was able to discover how far it was in nearly exact terms. They
forded the Enborn, then followed its southern bank to a meadow surrounded by a
small wood where the troop camped for the night. Sir Roger rode the last three
miles alone, arriving just at dusk and thanking God that he could spend this
night, at least, in a comfortable bed.

That cheerful thought flew right out of his head to be
replaced by a burgeoning joy when he discovered that Rhiannon was actually
still in Kingsclere and that Simon and the castellan were away. In moments his
plan was revised. There would be no need to use force of any kind. If he could
induce Rhiannon to come with him, he could send back a message that would bring
Simon alone and unarmed right into his arms.

Success seemed to grow from good fortune. Although Rhiannon
was clearly amazed and somewhat frightened when he first delivered his message—that
she was urgently desired to return to the king, who wished her to carry
messages to her father for him—his glib explanations about the change in the
political situation seemed rapidly to dissipate her surprise and alarm. The
matter was of grave importance, he said, and could not wait. It was unfortunate
that Sir Simon should be away, but if she would trust herself to him with three
or four men-at-arms from the castle for protection, Sir Simon could easily
catch up with them before they reached London.

Rhiannon listened with downcast eyes, thinking quickly. It
was possible that what Sir Roger said was true. Even though her last exchange
with Henry implied that he did not regard her as a political person, that did
not preclude the possibility of his wishing to send a message to Llewelyn by
her. However, there were too many sour notes in Sir Roger’s litany. One was the
excessive need for speed. Why? Simon said it would be some weeks before an army
could be assembled, and he was in no particular hurry to get back to Wales.

There was another false note. “How did the king know where
to send you?” Rhiannon asked.

“Lord Ian told us you were going to Kingsclere.”

“Lord Ian,” Rhiannon echoed. If Ian knew, then it was
certainly necessary for her to go, Rhiannon thought. “Yes, I will come,” she
said, “but it is ridiculous for Simon to follow us. He will be here tomorrow,
and I can ride as fast as any man.”

“But we must start at once,” Sir Roger insisted.

“No!” Sir Henry cried. “It is dark. You cannot ride all night,
my dear. You will be cold and wet. It is raining. Wait for Simon. He knows
these lands and can take you cross country to save time.”

“You know nothing of the king’s needs, old man,” Sir Roger
snapped harshly. “Hold your tongue!”

Rhiannon had almost been swept away by the man’s urgency,
but the way Sir Henry shrank from the lash in his voice enraged her. Then two
realizations occurred to her simultaneously. The first was that what Sir Henry
said was true. Simon could save them more time than could be gained by riding
on a black, wet night. The second was that she had not the slightest interest
in preventing her father from joining forces with Pembroke. It was what Simon
wanted him to do, and, from all she had learned, it was probably the best thing
for him to do. Regardless of the king’s hurry, then, she was in
no
hurry. She patted Sir Henry’s hand.

“No, I will not go tonight. I have no intention of stumbling
around in the dark when it rains and there is not even a moon to guide us.”

“The king will be ill-pleased by this delay,” Sir Roger said
threateningly.

Rhiannon’s large eyes, clear as glass and as hard, fixed on
him. “He is not
my
king,” she said succinctly. “He is asking a service
of me, not I of him. I will do it when I choose, or not at all.”

Realizing he had trod amiss, Sir Roger began to apologize
and excuse himself, trying to induce her to go by saying he would be blamed if
they delayed. It was doubtful that Rhiannon would have been moved, even if she
heard a word he said, but she did not. Although her eyes remained fixed on him,
another discrepancy had occurred to her. If Ian knew a messenger had been sent
to her from the king, he would surely have written a letter either to her or to
Simon urging her to go—if he had wanted her to go. Then, either it was a lie
that Ian had told Sir Roger where to find them, or, more likely, Ian did
not
want her to go. Something began to stink to high heaven. Still, Rhiannon was
not sufficiently sure of herself to refuse outright.

“I am very sorry,” she said, vaguely aware of the
self-pitying arguments Sir Roger was urging on her. “Nonetheless, I will not go
tonight.”

From the corner of her eye, Rhiannon saw that Sir Henry was
very much upset. The old man was trembling and plucking uneasily at his tunic
with his crippled fingers. Rhiannon wished to calm him, but the pestiferous Sir
Roger was talking again. Apparently he had given up on the notion of leaving
that night. Now he was insisting that they go at dawn. Rhiannon was tempted to
tell him that if he did not shut his mouth, she would not go at all, when she
suddenly bethought herself that she could shut his mouth without his knowing
anything about it.

“Yes, yes,” she agreed smiling blandly, “we will go as soon
as you are ready tomorrow. Now allow me to fetch you some wine to refresh you
while we wait for the evening meal to be brought.”

Enormously relieved, Sir Roger thanked her fulsomely. They
would be well away, he thought, long before Simon returned from the visit he
was making. And once Rhiannon was a hostage among his men, the time factor was
no longer important. He was so satisfied with his accomplishment that he did
not stop to wonder why Lady Rhiannon should fetch wine for him herself rather
than signal for a maid to bring it.

As she poured sufficient sleeping draught into the cup to
lay out a horse and laced it with
usquebaugh
to hide the taste, Rhiannon
also smiled with satisfaction. This was much better. She could blame any delay
on Sir Roger himself, and she certainly would not leave before Simon came. Since
it was his family that would suffer if she did the wrong thing, he must make
the decision.

Sir Henry was very much surprised, and quite pleased, when
the offensive messenger dropped asleep right in the middle of a lofty sentence
before the evening meal was served. Rhiannon said, with twitching lips, that he
must have been very tired from his long ride. She summoned two hefty
menservants and instructed them to carry Sir Roger to bed in one of the wall
chambers. When he was gone, Sir Henry commented that Sir Roger must be an idle
popinjay to be so tired from a little ride. Then he became embarrassed and said
he imagined Rhiannon must be sorry.

“I am sure you would rather listen to his talk of the
Court—”

“I certainly would not!” she exclaimed. “I prefer greatly to
listen to you.”

“That is very kind, my dear, very kind, even if I know it is
not true. I was never very—very clever at talk.”

“Sir Henry, if you were mute as a wooden board, I would
prefer to sit with you in silence than to listen to that self-important fool.”

The old man smiled. “Is he? I thought so, but… So much the
more I wish you would not go with him without Simon, even if the king is not
pleased.”

“Oh, I am sure that will not be necessary. He is so tired,
you see. I only said I would go when he was ready. He will sleep long tomorrow.
We will not allow anyone to disturb him. Simon will be here before he wakes.”

“How clever you are, my dear. Yes, yes. Bid the men close
the door. It will be so dark in that wall chamber, he will never know night from
day, and no sound will wake him either. How clever you are.”

Rhiannon thought so too, and they laughed together in amity
and played a pleasant game of draughts with much silliness and little skill on
either side. She felt even cleverer midmorning of the next day when Simon and
Sir Harold arrived, breathless with anxiety, with their horses all in alather.
Having settled the hunting problem to everyone’s satisfaction, they had ridden
up to the priory south of Newbury to discuss obtaining a chaplain for Kingsclere.
Sir Harold had been reluctant to make the arrangement on his own for fear of
hurting Sir Henry. The old chaplain wished very much to return to the monastery
for his remaining years, and Sir Harold felt he needed a younger man, but
neither had wished to tell Sir Henry. Simon agreed that Rhiannon would probably
be able to break this news gently.

On their way back to Kingsclere, they had seen signs of the
passage of a large troop of men. Careful investigation had brought them to the
camp where Sir Roger’s men waited. The master-at-arms knew of no reason to
conceal from Sir Harold the little bit he had been told and said they were
waiting to accompany Sir Roger de Cantelupe, who had been sent on an errand by
the Bishop of Winchester. Sir Roger had ridden ahead to Kingsclere, and that
was all the master-at-arms knew.

Since the camp and men were orderly, Sir Harold made no
objection to their remaining where they were. He rode back to where Simon was
waiting—to bring help in case the troop was hostile—thanking God that he did
not have to deal with whatever Winchester’s messenger wanted by himself. It was
not until he saw the horror on Simon’s face that he guessed Sir Roger might
have a purpose connected with his guests rather than with himself or his keep.

Simon’s mind moved swiftly, and although they rode at full
gallop, the three miles to Kingsclere seemed the longest distance Simon had
even ridden. He had started by thinking of rape and murder and imagined other,
ever-increasing horrors, which even a whole army would have had difficulty
accomplishing in one night, before they arrived. The smiling, casual greetings
of guards and servants restored his perspective, and he realized he should have
trusted Rhiannon not to do anything hasty or foolish. Thus, he came into the
hall with an expression of bland interest and welcome, but only Rhiannon rose
to greet him from her chair beside Sir Henry’s.

Simon looked around, and Rhiannon hurried forward. “You know
we have a guest?” she asked.

“Where is he?” Simon wanted to know.

Rhiannon laughed. “Asleep. And he will stay that way until
we decide what our answer to him should be.”

“Answer to what?”

“He says the king desires me to carry messages to my
father—”

“The king! There is a small army a few miles up the road
whose master-at-arms told Sir Harold that Sir Roger is on an errand for the
Bishop of Winchester.”

Rhiannon’s eyes opened wide with amazement. “Oh, the clever
liar!” she breathed. “He bade me take three or four men-at-arms from the keep
for protection and ride away with him at once. I almost believed him because he
said your father had told him where we were.”

“My father!” Simon was shocked, but then realized that Ian
would not have expected them to stay so long, particularly if he had hinted
about de Burgh… But that was not important now. Simon dismissed it from his
mind as he considered the present problem. He tried several interpretations but
only one seemed at all reasonable.

“Winchester did mean to take you hostage, Rhiannon,” he said
finally. “The troop he sent is large enough—to his mind anyway—to overpower my
Welsh. Probably he intended to take me, too, and make Mama and Papa and the
others dance on a string to his tugging. I wonder whether the king knows of
this.”

“I do not think so, Simon,” Rhiannon said slowly. “Partly it
is because he—he is an artist and respects that in me. Truly, he would not wish
to still my song by confinement. But also, I think King Henry knows my father
too well to believe holding me would do any good. He knows Llewelyn would only
turn vicious. Winchester thinks like—like—”

“An ignorant Frenchman. Yes. Very likely you are right, but
it does not help, really. If the king does not know, Winchester will keep the
secret as long as he can and then convince Henry that letting us go would be
more dangerous than holding us longer.” Rhiannon shuddered, and he put his arm
around her. “They would do us no harm. I am sure of that.”

Her eyes had a wild look when they turned up to his. “To be
caged like an animal would do me no harm? I would go mad!”

“I would not like it much either,” Simon agreed. “But since
there is no longer any chance of such a happening, do not think of it and
frighten yourself with shadows. All I need to decide is how we can leave behind
the greatest amount of confusion in Sir Roger’s mind and the least amount of
blame for Sir Harold.”

“Sir Harold knows nothing about this—do you, Sir Harold?”
Rhiannon asked, smiling sweetly.

“Certainly not!” Sir Harold replied promptly.

“When Sir Roger wakes, which should be around dinnertime,
you may tell him that I could not get him up in the morning, that he bade me go
away.” This was the truth. Rhiannon had stirred Sir Roger just enough to pour
some more sleeping draught down his throat. He had certainly told her to go
away. “Since he had made so great a point of the king’s hurry, as soon as Simon
returned we—we left to go to Westminster.”

Simon burst out laughing and clapped Rhiannon on the back so
heartily that she staggered forward a few steps. Then he caught her and hugged
her. “I am sorry, my love, I did not mean to hit you so hard, but what a
thought! What a beautiful thought!”

“Is it safe?” Sir Harold asked, and then when Simon opened
his mouth to explain, he held up his hand. “I am no good as a liar. Tell me no
more, I beg you, but, if you wish to stay here, you are very welcome. Sir Roger
could be put out, and no one would dare use open force to take you.”