"Oh, no!"
"Why, Leah what is it?"
"I did not think when I laughed because you are so big that it was not matter for jest at all and that it might be a danger to you."
"No, no. It is indeed a matter for jest." Seeing the tears in her eyes, he tried earnestly to reassure her. "Leah, I did but jape with you. Do not weep. I am in no way endangered. Truly, on a horse all men are the same size."
But Leah was badly shaken. She had suddenly realized that true fighting did not take place in the romantic way in which it was described in the minstrel's tales where the hero always won and was never hurt. The marks on Cain's body showed clearly that he was not invulnerable. Adjusted as Leah was to absolute obedience to her father, she would have tried to love any man he chose for her, no matter how old, ugly, or brutal. With Lord Radnor she had not even had to try; he was not old nor, in spite of his scars, ugly, and he certainly was not brutal to her. She was desperately anxious that nothing should happen to interfere with their marriage, for she knew that her satisfaction was a matter of total indifference to her father and that it was unlikely that she would be equally lucky in Pembroke's second choice. Her hands clung to Radnor's mighty upper arms and she bowed her head on his breast.
"Leah, I am long tried in war. For God's sake, if not for mine, do not weep—I cannot bear it." Whatever women had offered him in the past, not one had ever cried with fear because he might be hurt. "Good God," he cried, at last, more moved by her tears than she was herself, "you will unman me."
At that Leah raised her head. "My lord, I do not weep." Tears trembled on her lashes. With an effort she steadied her voice. "Men must fight and women must wait. It is the will of God. But may I be dead, as I most certainly will be damned, if I should make you less than yourself." The words were bravely said, unconsciously copied from the romances, but her hands clutched so tightly at Cain's arms that her nails bit into his flesh.
"You will have more wounds to dress if you do not let me go," he said gently, and then with an attempt at lightness, "and I shall take cold and die of that if you keep me standing in this cold room much longer with nothing but my hose on."
Leah smiled uncertainly, bade Cain sit again, and went to fetch her ointments. She smoothed the salve into the raw spots, exclaiming that the infected cut was now healing well. "I wish you did not go so soon."
"I will make haste—the best haste I may—to return. Will you be as tender of me then? Will you salve my new cuts and bruises?"
"You said" —her hands tensed and Cain winced as she pressed too hard on an open sore— "that there might be no fighting."
There was always fighting, one way or another, he thought. "A man may always tumble off his horse, or fall down a flight of steps when drunk," he replied lightly.
"I am sure that you are in the habit of falling off your horses." Leah laughed, and then bit her lip to force back a new rush of tears. "And now, my lord, you may anoint the bruise above your thigh. I must go and change my gown for dinner because it makes my father furious if I am late. Your clothing is here on the chest."
She left quickly and ran to her room, not to dress but to throw herself on her bed in a passion of tears. She knew he would never return. She was too happy; she could not be permitted to have such joy unpunished. She cried hysterically, and Edwina, coming in to dress, heard her.
"Leah! What is it? What has happened now? Heaven and earth, what has befallen you?"
"Oh, Mother, something dreadful will happen. I know it. I know it. Nothing good can come of this."
Edwina's face went white as wax. Could Leah have discovered that Pembroke planned Radnor's death? If Radnor was warned and did not go through with the marriage, the whole plan to make an independent kingdom of Wales with Pembroke as its king and herself as its queen would collapse. If Radnor had been warned through Leah's foolishness, Pembroke might really kill his daughter. But how could Leah have heard? What, and how much, had she heard?
"What are you talking about? What happened? Where is Lord Radnor?" But Edwina could get nothing from Leah except an incoherent repetition that something dreadful was about to occur.
Leah could know nothing definite, that was sure. By the time Lord Radnor had entered Pembroke's plans, Leah had been carefully excluded from all the conversations as had everyone not perfectly trustworthy. At first Pembroke had spoken only of obtaining control of Fitz Richard's lands, since the young man was kept a virtual prisoner in London. Slowly the notion of obtaining the lands permanently through forfeiture had developed in Pembroke's mind. It would be so easy to make Chester violate his truce; it would need no more than a hint that the king did not trust Chester and did not treat him with enough courtesy. That was where Radnor had come into the picture. Pembroke knew that the Gaunts would oppose any change of overlordship in Wales, partly because they feared it would wake the wild tribes to rebellion and partly because they did not want Pembroke's power to be increased.
Edwina herself had suggested the marriage. She knew that Leah had to marry, although she hated the idea, and Radnor was out fighting so much that he was the least of the evils in that Leah would be little troubled by his presence. Pembroke had hesitated because he hated the Gaunt family, root and stock, until Edwina pointed out that the blood bond would be a particularly strong one since Radnor had no other close relatives. Surely, she had urged, he would not oppose his own father-by-marriage’s aggrandizement. Edwina remembered very vividly how Pembroke had stared at her, how long he had remained silent with his cold, round eyes getting blanker and blanker. Then he had begun to laugh, and he had actually leant over to kiss her. Even in retrospect, Edwina drew herself together in fear and distaste. Gilbert was so cruel, so wily, and in spite of her efforts he could read her very soul like an open book. He had laughed and laughed.
"How would you like to keep your daughter?" he had asked. "A rich widow with a father to care for her property does not need to marry again. How would you like to be the first lady of Wales?"
There had been no need to wait for an answer. He had touched the only two sensitive spots in Edwina's heart, her love for Leah and her pride. Pembroke had repeated over and over, as if he were savoring the flavor of the words, that Radnor was the only child of an only child. He had neither kith nor kin who could inherit his property or his father's property. When he married, every rod of land and every copper mil would belong to his wife if he died childless.
"You are right indeed, my clever wife. Why should Radnor not marry our Leah? Why should he not die? Even if there was a child, would not that child be best guarded by his wife's father, since Gaunt is so old?" Pembroke had stopped laughing and was picking nervously at his clothes. "It would not be easy. That devil will not be easy to kill so that no man knows I have done it … But it might be done."
Little by little the plan had grown. With Radnor and Gaunt dead—and Gaunt would die by nature very soon for he was nearly three-score years old—there would be no real power in Wales except Pembroke himself. He would be like a king. Like a king? He would be king!
The easiest and least suspicious way for Radnor to die was in battle, but Radnor was cautious and not greedy. He would fight only to defend himself and on his own land. While Pembroke began negotiations for the marriage of Leah to Cain, offering as bait a magnificent dowry, he also began testing this man and that for weakness. Most of Radnor's vassals were steadfastly loyal, for the Gaunts were good overlords, but finally a man with a grievance had been found. He was Sir Robert, the castellan of Radnor Keep.
Pembroke had nearly wept with joy, for Radnor Keep was not far from the border of Fitz Richard's territory. If the Welsh in Fitz Richard's territory could be incited to attack any keep near Radnor Castle, Cain would be caught between the Welsh army and the disloyal Norman garrison. It was a good plan, but not good enough. The Welsh were undependable; Sir Robert might have a change of heart; or Radnor's own great skill as a fighter and leader might save him. Having received some indication that the marriage proposal was being favorably considered, Pembroke began to seek auxiliary methods of insuring his future son-by-marriage's demise.
Pembroke made a quiet trip to London in the winter when few men traveled. Stephen could not make nor keep secret a plot, but in Queen Maud's luxurious solar a man could speak of devious plans and be understood. Even to Maud one could not simply confess a desire to murder one's daughter's husband nor, of course, could one admit aspirations to royalty, but clever as she was she was only a woman. Pembroke found her ears very open to a plan to attack Gloucester from the rear and end the civil war once and for all.
If Chester and Hereford could be attainted when they were at court and could be taken prisoner easily, their estates would not make a solid bar against a royal invasion of Wales. Then only Radnor was left to resist the King's march through that country. Radnor was too cautious politically to fall into the trap as his godfather Chester would, but when Stephen called a council of his barons a tourney would be given. Men died in tourneys too; not as often as they died in war, but matters might be expedited without too great difficulty.
Pembroke did not speak his mind fully to Maud. When he needed to express himself, there was always Edwina, who feared him more than she feared the devil because she was more surely in his power. To her he added the fact that Radnor might not fight in the tourney. That would be the last, most certain, device. There were knives that slipped between ribs in dark passageways; there were arrows that sank deep after singing through quiet courtyards.
Edwina did not know, and did not wish to know, the details.
She knew enough to horrify and revolt her, but Radnor was nothing to her and the prize to be won by conniving at his death was invaluable. Desperately she slapped Leah until the girl's cheeks were flaming red and her sobs quieter.
"Whatever you have heard, or guessed, or dreamt, hold your tongue. If this marriage does not come to pass because of a slip of your tongue, your father will rip it out with hot pincers. Now, wash your face. Dress in your best gown, but do not dare show yourself in the hall until I send for you. Whatever you have marred, I will do my best to amend it. God help us both if I may not make matters smooth."
Edwina threw on her own clothes and rushed into the great hall. Here the sight that met her eyes filled her with relief but also confused her. Lord Radnor, Pembroke, and the Earl of Gaunt were laughing pleasantly enough together over ceremonial goblets of wine. What was plainly the document of marriage settlement lay on the table bearing all three signatures. The clerics who had written out the settlements and witnessed them were making copies to be deposited in the church in case of future argument. Nothing could have exceeded the surface good will of the scene. If Leah guessed something, she had not spoken and now would not. It was more likely, considering Pembroke's care for secrecy, that the child was merely unwilling. That would be excellent as long as her distaste did not communicate itself to Lord Radnor—no, even that did not matter for the betrothal was complete and he could not now withdraw.
What was going forward at the moment Edwina arrived was a discussion of who must be asked to the wedding. Actually this was a serious problem, because Gaunt and his son stood midway between the sides in the civil war. Their sympathies were with Henry of Anjou; their fealty had been given to Stephen. Unlike many others, they were faithful to their sworn word and, although some hated them on both sides, by most their behavior was grudgingly accepted and even respected.
Matilda, the empress, was no problem; she was just about to return to France and would not be likely to delay her departure. Henry likewise was no problem because he had not yet arrived and might not come after all. The most serious question was what to do about King Stephen and Robert, Earl of Gloucester. Both were far too important to ignore, and to have both come to the wedding would be a catastrophe.
Finally Gaunt said that he would write personally to Queen Maud and tell her that she must dissuade Stephen from coming because of the danger to him which would arise from being so deep in enemy territory. To give the king credit, no such argument would have weight with him both because he was a brave man and because he would love to annoy Gloucester. Lord Radnor engaged to contact Philip of Gloucester, Robert's second son and his own close friend, and ask him to keep his father away on the chance that Queen Maud could not control her husband.
Most of the other great magnates who would be invited either were neutrals or had changed sides in the conflict so often that they could mix with each other in relative safety. There was some doubt whether men like the Earl of Chester would be able to remember which side they were on at the moment.
The earl's attention, once the major question was settled, wandered, and he engaged Edwina in conversation. "I am well pleased in this matter." He smiled grimly. "It is good for a young man to have a wife to his liking. I told him two years since to throw off the slut he was playing with and make a marriage, but then he was so hot after her that he would not listen. It is no light thing to ride and fight all day and wander about half the night. Things will be better thus." Gaunt laughed coarsely. "Your daughter has well caught his fancy—so well that he could not lie quiet last night. He thought I slept, but I heard him walking. He will return in great haste. I hope he may keep his mind enough upon the business in hand that we do not lose the northern provinces. I have half a mind to go with him. I had forgot how it was." A bitter expression crossed the old man's face. "But it was so with myself for his mother. I was so fine-drawn by the time we came to bed that I had a fever and lost two stone."
He paused a moment while his mouth grew harder yet, and Edwina felt sick as she thought of what Leah would have to bear. Gaunt had continued speaking, however, and she wrenched her thoughts from her own bitter memories to what he was saying.