Rhiannon (30 page)

His deep, even breathing was an additional insult to
Rhiannon. Although the fury with which Simon had cited his oath to her as a bar
to his seeking another woman’s company had convinced her he had not yet
betrayed that oath, she told herself angrily that it was only temporary. Next
time he would. But she was uncomfortable even in her rage. There was a
falseness in it and in the fuel she was using to feed it. Nonetheless, for some
reason she could not bear to contemplate at all, she would not let it go.

Simon slept like a log and did not wake until he heard the
tables being set up for the breaking of the household’s fast. Then he
remembered he had missed the evening meal the night before and was suddenly
ravenous. He put out a hand to wake Rhiannon, but he remembered the quarrel of
the preceding night before he touched her. Better to let her wake on her own.
Simon’s irritation with Rhiannon had evaporated with his exhaustion, but his
memory of the scene with Winchester was more, rather than less, troubling.
Grabbing a bedrobe, he went out and found his parents already eating.

To Simon’s relief, his father looked quite normal this
morning. His eyes were still worried, but the frightening gray tinge was gone
from his skin, and Alinor’s smile seemed quite natural. Thus, he was able to
tell the whole tale of the none-too-subtle confrontation with Winchester. Ian
was appalled, but Alinor shook her head at him.

“I do not say I would have taken the same path,” she
remarked, “but I can see a useful end to this one.” A snap of the fingers
summoned a servant, whom she sent to fetch Geoffrey. “Rhiannon must not come
before the king again,” she went on when she had finished the message to the
servant. “At least, not while we are here in Oxford.”

“I am glad you agree with me,” Simon said.

“Yesterday I did not agree with you,” Alinor pointed out.
“Today is different because Rhiannon did go yesterday.”

“I cannot believe Winchester ever intended such a thing,”
Ian protested. “He is devious, but not mad. Holding Rhiannon would never stop
Llewelyn, but would only make him more ferocious.”

“That was what Rhiannon said, but I am not sure Winchester
realizes that Llewelyn would react that way,” Simon insisted.

“Ii does not matter a pin what Winchester intended or
understood. He may be innocent of all evil designs,” Alinor snapped. “What does
matter is that he has given into our hands another needle with his name on it
to thrust into the king’s hide.”

Both her husband and her son stopped chewing to stare at
her. “Well?” Ian prompted.

“Wait for Geoffrey,” Alinor replied, smiling and taking a
hearty bite from a slice of cheese. “I do not wish to have to say it all
twice.”

Simon and Ian looked at each other. They were never so much
at one as in those times when both wished to strangle Alinor. Fortunately for
their pride and their tempers, Geoffrey and the others came in just then. A
gesture made Simon recapitulate what he had just told them. Various
expressions, some of approval and some of irritation, were cut off by Ian’s
shushing motions.

“Your mother,” he remarked sardonically, “was delighted. She
says she has a way to turn this stupidity to account, but it needs Geoffrey’s
concurrence.”

Geoffrey immediately began to look very wary. Alinor was
usually wise, but from time to time a really outrageous notion would occur to
her. Since she was both clever and stubborn, it was very difficult either to
prove her wrong or to divert her.

“You need not look as if I were about to hand you a live
adder wrapped in rose leaves,” Alinor said.

“But it is not unknown for you to do so, Mama,” Gilliane
pointed out gently, “and to say such a thing can only make poor Geoffrey wonder
all the more.”

Alinor laughed. “But do you not see it?” she asked. “Henry
is assuredly besotted on Rhiannon’s singing. He noticed that she was frightened
when he spoke of keeping her—you told me that, Ian. He cannot have failed to
notice how disturbed she was at what Winchester said when she had just asked
for assurances that she would not be caged.”

“Come, Mama, spit it out,” Adam said impatiently. “What are
we to do?”

“You? Nothing! You are as bad as Simon for saying what you
should not. What Simon will do is take Rhiannon to our house in London.”

“Why London?” Simon asked. “I can see reason to take her
home to Wales, but not to London. We will be even more vulnerable there.”

“There is no question of vulnerability,” Alinor replied.
“You are letting your imagination run wild. No force will be used. Besides, you
assured both Winchester and the king that you would remain with the Court until
the council.” Then she turned her eyes to her son-by-marriage. “This is where
Geoffrey’s concurrence is needed. When the king asks for Rhiannon to sing
again, as he will, Geoffrey must tell him that Winchester frightened her so
much with his talk of nests in English meadows that she only wished to flee
home last night.”

Geoffrey’s face cleared. “Yes, and you are quite right, this
is not an adder wrapped in rose leaves—at least, not for me. I see the rest
now. I can say that it took all our efforts to convince her not to go home but
that nothing would make her remain here. Finally we managed to find a
compromise. She would go to London and sing for the king, but only at Alinor’s
house or when Winchester was not at Court. Then, when the king comes to London,
I will remind him. Yes, yes, this is good.”

“There is only one difficulty,” Simon put in, rather red in
the face. “I do not know whether Rhiannon will agree.” Every head turned to
him. In the silence his flush grew deeper.

“Well?” Alinor urged sharply.

“We—er—quarreled over her going alone to Court last night,”
Simon offered. “I was tired and said more than I should.”

“You must have said a good deal more than was necessary,”
Alinor snapped.

“But it was my fault, Simon,” Ian interrupted hastily.
“Curse me! I should have gone with her. I knew it, but—”

“There is no sense in ‘should haves’ now,” Alinor broke in.
“I am sorry we could not explain to Simon how it came about that Rhiannon went
alone. Who could believe that he would fix on this idea of abducting her? In
any case, there will be plenty of time to explain to Rhiannon why it is necessary
for her to go to London.”

“Yes, because it will really forward Llewelyn’s purpose more
than ours,” Geoffrey remarked. “Our point will be made even if she insists on
going back to Wales.”

“But I am not afraid that she will wish to go to Wales,” Simon
complained. “She is almost as enamored of the king’s listening as he is of her
singing.”

“That is not true,” Rhiannon said. Everyone had been so
absorbed in the discussion that no one had noticed her come out from behind the
bed curtains. She was standing quite near the table, her eyes angry. “Any
singer is glad of those who listen with their hearts,” she continued, “but a
wise bird does not sit down on limed twigs just to obtain hearers.”

Simon threw up his hands in disgust. “Everything I say is
wrong these days.”

To this no one bothered to reply. Alinor had done a quick
survey of what had been said and decided with relief that nothing except
Simon’s last words could be thought of as critical of Rhiannon. This did not
worry Alinor. She was quite confident of her son’s ability to wriggle out of
any stupidity he had fallen into with a girl who loved him. In fact, the best
opportunity for him to redeem himself would occur when they were alone.

“Well, then,” Alinor said, as if her son had not spoken,
“are you willing to go with Simon to London and await the king’s coming there?”

“Yes, I am,” Rhiannon replied. “I may be ignorant—as some
believe—but I am not too stupid to learn.”

To be sure they were not making any mistake, Geoffrey rode
off to Court while Simon took Rhiannon out into the countryside. That way, if
Geoffrey were asked about her, he could say quite truthfully that he did not
know where she was nor when she would return. As far as Geoffrey was concerned,
however, that move was wasted. The Court was in too great an uproar for anyone
to think of a singer, no matter how fine.

As soon as Henry had come from his chamber after breaking
his fast, a herald had delivered aloud and in public the Earl of Pembroke’s
demand that the terms of the truce be met. The earl begged in all duty and
humility, the herald said, that the king’s writ bidding his servants return Usk
to Pembroke’s men be sent at once. The herald offered to take the writ himself
or to accompany the king’s messenger if the king preferred to send one.

Behind his expressionless face, Geoffrey’s thoughts flicked.
Firstly, that Walter must have found Richard in good time. Secondly, that
Richard had made a very clever move. Thirdly, that Winchester’s first line of
attack had certainly been checked. Doubtless the bishop had counted on Pembroke
sending a deputy to Usk, since he was due at Westminster on October ninth.
There had been no arrangement for any public announcement of the return of Usk.
In fact, the expectation would be that it would be done as quietly and
unobtrusively as possible to save face for the king. Winchester had hoped,
Geoffrey assumed, that no one, including Richard, would know for certain that
the terms of the truce had been broken until the date of the council.

If things had gone as Winchester desired, Pembroke’s deputy
would have been put off with some likely excuse such as that the king’s
messenger had been delayed and Usk could not be handed over until the writ
came. Two chances to one the deputy would have waited at least a week before
sending a message to warn Richard that the king had broken his word and that
Usk was still in his hands. But by then, Richard would have been at Westminster
already, and if so, his protest could have been used as a reason to imprison
him.

Instead, the king’s perfidy was displayed to all the barons
so openly that they could not ignore it even if they wished. Now the retaking
of Usk could begin without delay, and, far more important, Pembroke was well
removed from the king’s power and safe on his own lands.

“You know what this means,” Ferrars said heavily. “Henry
will send out another summons to war.”

“I cannot answer it,” Geoffrey stated flatly. “I was one of
the sureties that Usk would be returned.”

Ferrars nodded. “I do not think Pembroke will hold you
liable to fight against the king. I do not know what I will do.” The earl’s
voice was suddenly old, broken. “I have never wavered in my faith, but this
cause is foul! It stinks in all men’s nostrils.”

“There are many mercenaries in the land,” Geoffrey remarked
neutrally.

This was the second string to Winchester’s bow, Geoffrey
thought. No doubt the bishop would have preferred the easy way of taking
Pembroke prisoner and quelling a rebellion that had no focal point. However, it
was unlikely that he really believed things would be so easy. He must have
half-expected that someone would warn Richard to stay away. But if the barons
would not come to the summons and still Pembroke could be broken with the
strength of the mercenaries, Winchester would have gained as much.

These dismal thoughts were broken by Ferrars’ unmirthful
bark of laughter. “Mercenaries will avail him nothing. Still, I wish I knew
where this would end. It is Winchester—all Winchester—and just when there is no
Archbishop of Canterbury. If only there were another man such as Stephen
Langton to curb Peter des Roches…”

Geoffrey doubted that even the Pope could curb Peter des
Roches, but Ferrars’ remark had given him another idea. The king’s faith was
really quite strong. Perhaps there was some way to involve the Church, although
thus far the bishops had been reluctant to combine against Winchester. For
some, this was owing to a lack of courage, but the best of the high churchmen
had more than enough spirit. The trouble was that these men were also truly
religious and most careful to obey the dictum that what was Caesar’s must be
rendered unto Caesar. They would not interfere in the political management of
the kingdom, except by pleading as impartial persons for mercy and justice. Still,
Geoffrey liked his idea so much that he took it home to Ian and Alinor.

“It is a good thought,” Alinor remarked, pursing her lips.
“Roger of London and Robert of Salisbury are strong enough and can carry with
them many weaker vessels, but they will need a cause that touches the Church.
There is no sense waiting for something to turn up. Perhaps—”

“No, Alinor,” Ian said apprehensively, “for God’s sake, let
us not embroil ourselves with God’s elect. Let us see what comes to light in
this conference. The bishops will all be in London, and I promise I will sound
them out. Then we will know better how to direct our efforts.”

“Very well, I will do nothing until the conference,” Alinor
agreed. Her son-by-marriage and husband breathed more freely until, a moment
later, she added, “But I will think about it,” which made them groan gently.

Simon had been no more enthusiastic than Rhiannon when it
was agreed that the safest thing to do was for him to take his betrothed out
riding. She had gone with him as she was bid, but she was bristling like a cat
about to spit, though Simon gave her no immediate cause to be angry. In silence
he helped her into her saddle and in silence foll- owed wherever she wandered,
remaining a few paces behind her. Finally, after they had dismounted and
Rhiannon had sat down on a fallen log, her irritation spilled over in speech.

“What do you accomplish by this?” she snapped.

“Nothing,” Simon answered mildly. “Believe me, I would not
be in your company if it was not necessary.”

“I am very glad to hear that,” Rhiannon interrupted
caustically.

Simon shrugged. “It is true enough, but only because I know
myself to be in the wrong, and I know you to be too angry to listen to my
apology. For both of us it would be better to be apart. Since we are
constrained to be in company, what can I do but hold my tongue?”

“So you are in the wrong?”

“Yes. I know now you had no choice but to go to the king. My
father should have gone with you, but I can only thank you for not asking it of
him. He was not well, I know. In any case, my choice of words and tone were
uncivil. I was out of temper and tired, and I struck out at you.”

There was a long silence after that. Rhiannon wandered away
from the tree, drifting aimlessly here and there. Simon did not follow her, only
turning so that he could keep her in sight. The horses, tethered to a low
branch, nibbled at the leaves of bushes and at the thin blades of grass that
straggled wherever a patch of sunlight fell. Eventually Rhiannon returned and
resumed her seat on the log.

“Not all the fault was yours,” she admitted quietly.

“It is ever so,” Simon replied, equally quietly. “One cannot
quarrel with a stone wall. But the initial fault was mine, and so it is for me
to take the blame. It is sweeter and easier, Rhiannon, that you are willing to
share with me.”

“Blame, yes. My life, no.”

It was said gently, sorrowfully. Simon breathed in as if he
had been cut, but he did not speak for a few minutes. Finally he looked away
from her face, which he had been watching.

“That seems a harsh punishment for a few hasty and unwise
words.”

She stood up and took his hand in hers. “You know I do not
mean it so, Simon. I said as many hasty and unwise words. I knew you were tired
and had only to hold my tongue and all would blow over. I am as much at fault
as you—I have said that already. I am sorry to give you pain also, but I am
trying in the only way I know to spare us both worse in the future. Dear Simon,
it is not what you said to me or what I said to you that brought me to this
decision. It is what caused me to answer you with such bitterness when there
was no cause to do so.”

“Rhiannon, if you think people who love each other do not
quarrel, you are truly an innocent. Roselynde, as you know, is a strong keep,
but there were times when I thought that my mother and father would have it
down around our ears by their violence. Yet surely you must see they love each
other.”

“You did not listen. It was not the quarrel that distressed
me but what I felt before it. What did you hunt yesterday, Simon?”

He looked at her in considerable surprise but would not
chance angering her again and answered simply, “A stag. We lost two before we
finally killed. I could not divert those idiots no matter what I said. And
then—”

“I was sure it was a doe.”

“There is no harm in taking a doe in this season,” Simon
said with a slight frown of puzzlement. “Do you have some special feeling about
it, my love? I will swear, if you like, to hold does sacred.”

“A two-legged doe, Simon,” Rhiannon said pointedly, with a
bitter twist to her lips.

Simon stared at her, his mouth partly open on further words
that were not relevant. Then he laughed. “You are ridiculous! How could you
dream such a thing? I had you the night before. I could look forward to loving
you the very next night. Even if I felt such a desire—which I assure you I did
not, I am no satyr—you must think ill of me indeed if you believe I could not
master myself for so short a time.”

“I do not think ill of you. In my mind I knew every word you
have just said—and knew the words were true. Nonetheless, Simon, I suffered as
cruelly as if you had betrayed me.”

“But Rhiannon—”

“I cannot bear it, Simon. I cannot! I absolve you of your
oath. I do not wish to know or care—”

“You cannot absolve me of my oath. If you wish to withdraw
yours, I cannot stop you. And if I have you, it must be with honor. If I cannot
have you, then I will remain celibate as a priest until I am too old to care,
but I will have no other woman, Rhiannon.”

“Listen to me. Be reasonable,” she begged. “Can
you
not see you are being cruel? I do not blame you in any way. I know you have
been true. It is
my
mind,
my
heart that have failed. If I reach
out to grasp you and hold you for my own, my fears and jealousy—whether real or
unreal—will kill me.”

Simon stared at her and then put his arm around her and drew
her to him. “What do you want me to do, Rhiannon? I love you. I cannot force
you to take me, but I will not give you up for a whim of jealousy. I could not,
even if I wished it. I do not desire any other woman.”

“Now. But if you put me out of your thoughts, in the years
ahead—”

He laughed. “I may be dead in a few weeks in the next
battle. It is ridiculous for me to think long years in the future.”

Rhiannon was as still in his arm as a wild hare that mimics
death, but inside she had been seized by a cold shuddering. Simon dead? How
could he speak of his own death with such indifferent serenity? Simon’s
sidelong glance caught her loss of color, another confirmation, if any were
needed, that she did love him. In a way it was very discouraging. Simon knew
how to make a woman love him, but it seemed that the more Rhiannon loved him,
the harder she struggled to be free. He really did not know what to do next.

She pulled free of him suddenly and ran away. Seeing that
she was not keeping in sight as she had in her previous restless idling, Simon
untied the horses and followed. He was really worried. This fleeing was
symbolic of the inner emotion Rhiannon felt. When he thought back, he realized
she had always done it. At Dinas Emrys, when she first realized she was
beginning to love him, she had run away. And then she had tried to run into
another man’s arms, just to avoid his at Aber.

How far would she run this time—not in the wood but in her
thoughts? How could he catch her again? No, he knew the answer to that. There
were multitudinous snares that could be set to trap a woman into love or to
demonstrate to her that she already loved, but that was the last thing he
needed. Rhiannon would be taken in the snare easily enough, since she did love
him, but she would tear herself apart—as a fox would chew off its own leg—to
get free.

For the first time in his life Simon was truly and deeply at
a loss in how to handle a woman. When Rhiannon had sent him away the first
time, he had been hurt and angered by the rejection, nonetheless he knew the
right moves to conquer her—or so he had thought. Now he was lost himself and
did not even know to whom to turn for help. Ian could only tell him what he
himself knew; not even Kicva could guarantee the future; and there was no sense
in having a priest tell Rhiannon to trust in the all-encompassing mercy of
Christ and His Mother. Rhiannon went to Mass and professed Christianity, but
she still swore by Anu and Danu. The dark, merciless gods of a dim past had a
strong hold on her.

Rhiannon ran until she could run no farther, then threw
herself down to catch her breath. While she ran, there was relief. Her mind had
been blank, her consciousness devoted solely to her physical effort. When her
body was still, however, her mind began to move again. Tears flooded her eyes
and then sank back. No one could run forever, or do any other task without rest
and food. There was no way out by that door.

Simon was waiting at a respectful distance, not imposing
himself. It was the right thing to do and, because of that, more wrong than
anything else. Rhiannon came near to hating him for his gentleness and
understanding. If only he would be angry; if only he would intrude so that she
could find him coarse and unfeeling; if only he would even stare at her in
silent misery so she could tell herself he was falsely demanding attention.
There was not even self-pity in his face nor the determination that often
showed when she had denied him in the past. He hardly looked sad; he seemed
more thoughtful or puzzled. There would be no escape through Simon’s
unworthiness.