Rhiannon (37 page)

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.

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.