Rhiannon (34 page)

When stimulated, Henry’s mind was quick and agile. He
preserved his face by dismissing the bishops once more, but this time with an
assurance that they would have his full answer the next day. By then he was
ready. Once before, de Burgh had sought sanctuary. That time he had crawled out
himself, begging Henry’s mercy because the sanctuary had been surrounded and no
food could be brought to him. Rather than starve, he had broken sanctuary
himself. What had been done once could be done again.

The next day, as he had promised, Henry gave his judgment.
He agreed that de Burgh would be returned to the church near Devizes. Roger of
London saw the gleam in the king’s eye, and he knelt down, soft-voiced, to beg
for mercy, to plead that de Burgh be allowed to live in peace in that church.
He would be no danger to anyone there, the bishop pleaded; he was an old man
and broken. To this the king made no answer other than a slight smile. The
bishop sighed. He knew that Henry would order the church surrounded so that de
Burgh could be starved out, however, that was outside the jurisdiction of the
Church. Roger could plead for mercy as a man, but he could not fight for it as
a prelate.

The explosion that had taken place two days before Henry released
de Burgh was the signal that freed Simon and Rhiannon, however, there was no
particular urgency about leaving. The news was important, but it would bear no
fruit for several weeks. There was plenty of time to inform Llewelyn. Thus,
time was spent in a round of farewell visits and in packing. Rhiannon found her
baskets far fuller than they had been when she came. Aside from what she had
purchased herself, Alinor and Joanna had loaded her with gifts and there were
even items from Gilliane at Tarring.

Tearfully Rhiannon tried to tell them that she did not
expect to be married to Simon. All smiled on her and kissed her and assured her
the gifts were for her in remembrance, not for Simon’s wife. They all wished
for the marriage and would pray for it, but their love was for Rhiannon herself
whether she married Simon or not. Helplessly, Rhiannon did what she could,
bestowing rings and necklets on each of the women she desired for sisters,
except… To Alinor she gave the length of cloth that Kicva had woven because
Alinor had called it a wonder and Rhiannon felt it was the most precious thing
she had that Alinor would be likely to use. She had feared that Simon’s mother
would protest, but she did not. Instead she had smiled and folded Rhiannon in
her arms—a most unusual gesture, for Alinor saved her embraces for infants and
for her husband.

“I know just what to do with it, my love,” Alinor said. “You
will be glad, very glad when you see it, and I am sure your mother will
approve.”

“My mother?” Rhiannon echoed.

“Yes, my love,” Alinor laughed. “Be sure to tell Kicva that
you have given me the cloth of birds and that I said when I took it that I
would put it to the use for which she intended it.”

“But—but how could you know the use? I am not sure that my
mother had any special use in mind.”

“Then do not bother your head about it. Perhaps your mother
will explain. Now it is not important.”

Rhiannon was annoyed. She was not a small child about whom
adults spoke over her head as if she were not there or could not understand.
Yet, without even being in the same country, without ever having met, Alinor
acted as if she and Kicva were in complete communication and understanding.
Rhiannon could not spoil a gift-giving with sharp words, but she told herself
she would surely find out Kicva’s intention for that cloth and prove to Alinor
that she had guessed wrong.

The small irritation with Alinor’s seemingly superior
knowledge was pushed into the back of Rhiannon’s mind by the fact of starting
home, which was by no means an unalloyed pleasure. Rhiannon desired her home
and her freedom and told herself that, once there, she would be free of the
mingled joy and pain of desiring Simon. It was a great surprise to her that
this idea did not lift her spirits. Instead a pall so black settled over her
that it made even the sunlight seem dim.

Simon did not notice Rhiannon’s depression. He had a subject
of absorbing interest to chew over in his mind. Just before they left, Ian had
told him Hubert de Burgh would be returned to the church near Devizes keep.
Then, seemingly dropping that subject, Ian had asked Simon to take a somewhat
southerly route toward Wales, due west from London, so that they could stop at
Kingsclere to see old Sir Henry. The old castellan was failing fast and had
asked if “the young devil” would visit with him before he left England.

Simon knew from Walter that Gilbert Bassett and Richard
Siward were raiding in the area around Devizes. He did not know what losses
they had taken nor how widely their forces were spread. It was very likely that
they would not have enough men to chance an attack on the guard the king would
set to starve out de Burgh. The smallest alarm would bring out the entire
garrison of Devizes.

Even if they could get de Burgh out, it was not likely they
could get him away with that force following them. The man was old and weak
from being harshly treated; he could not travel far or fast. To rescue de
Burgh, only to have him recaptured, would serve the king’s purpose. However, if
he could be removed secretly, soon after the night guard came on duty, there
would be a few—or with luck, many—hours before the escape was discovered. This
would give the fugitive a good head start, and no one would know in which
direction he had fled. The chances then would be quite good for a clean escape.

The trouble was that Simon did not think Bassett or Siward
or any of their men would be capable of spiriting de Burgh away without raising
an alarm. His Welsh could do it, but should he embroil himself in such an
enterprise? Hubert de Burgh had been no favorite with his family in the past.

Ordinarily Simon would have thought a pox on the king
and
de Burgh, but his sense of honor and fair play was outraged. It seemed unfair
and cruel to him to hound a helpless old man. If the king feared de Burgh, it
was reasonable to keep him in gentlemanly confinement; that was what had
originally been intended by the four earls who agreed to be his gaolers. To
have abrogated that agreement and to have thrust him, loaded with chains, into
a dungeon was too much. It was not the king, anyway, Simon told himself.
Probably it was Winchester, who feared if de Burgh were freed he would work
himself back into Henry’s affection. Thus Winchester kept inflaming the king’s
mind against his old mentor and hoping cruel treatment would kill the old man
and remove him permanently as a rival.

The whole subject would never have entered Simon’s mind had
they taken the shortest route back to Wales. They would have gone northwest
toward Northampton and on through Coventry and Shrewsbury. However, Ian’s
request that they stop at Kingsclere changed that. On the northern road, they
would have been too far from Devizes for de Burgh’s plight to have any
pertinence. But Kingsclere was only thirty miles as the crow flies from
Devizes. There was some rough country between and no direct road, but that
would be child’s play compared with the trackless mountains of Wales.

There had been nothing in Ian’s face to suggest any ulterior
purpose in mentioning de Burgh’s release just before he asked Simon to go to
Kingsclere. The first was information Llewelyn would be interested to hear and
Simon should know; the second was a personal matter entirely. Of course, Simon
knew his father felt just as he did about de Burgh. Could he have meant…
No
,
Simon told himself,
you cannot blame such a mad escapade on anyone. If you
do it and get caught and get everyone into terrible trouble, you cannot tell
yourself that Papa hinted…he did nothing of the sort. He would probably be horrified
at the idea.

Still, the notion kept coming back. If he could find Bassett
and obtain his agreement, the Welsh could rescue de Burgh from the church and
deliver him to Bassett. Simon himself could then return over the hills to
Kingsclere, and no one need ever know he had been involved. But it would not be
fair to Rhiannon. Even if he left her at Kingsclere, she would be tarred with
his black brush if he were caught, and all her effort to ingratiate herself
with Henry would be wasted. In fact, probably the king would blame Llewelyn as
well as Rhiannon for Simon’s mischief.

All through the long ride to Kingsclere, the arguments
flowed back and forth in Simon’s mind. Rhiannon was herself agonized, mistaking
his frowning absorption for unhappiness. A hundred times she opened her mouth
to speak and closed it again, unable to offer comfort because she was still
unwilling to offer herself as sacrifice.

It was an untold relief to arrive at the keep and be greeted
with tearful gratitude by Sir Henry. The old man was in bad case. He was nearly
paralyzed and often in pain. He was well cared for but terribly depressed by
his helplessness and the boredom of sitting hour after hour unable to move and
with nothing to do. Sir Harold did his best, but he had duties around the
estate and his close attention was all the more necessary because he was new in
his position.

Worse, Sir Harold did not yet have a wife. Until Alinor had
fixed on him to be castellan at Kingsclere, he could not afford a wife unless
an heiress could be found for him. Since there were many penniless younger sons
and the parents or guardians of heiresses preferred men with something to add
to the lady’s estate, Sir Harold had never thought of marriage. Now his elder
brother and Lady Alinor were both looking around for a suitable girl or young
widow for him, but none had yet been found. Thus, there was no one to sit with
old Sir Henry except the even older priest, who was also failing. There was no
one to talk about subjects that would interest him, like hunting or fighting,
or even to give him a game of chess.

Both Simon and Rhiannon were touched by the old man’s joy in
their coming and his tremulous fear that they would stay no longer than the one
night. By common consent, without words, it was decided that they would extend
the visit. Sir Harold was almost as grateful as Sir Henry. He felt dreadfully
guilty about leaving the old man alone so much, but he did not dare neglect his
duty. In addition, he had some problems he wanted to discuss with someone. Ordinarily
he would have ridden down to Roselynde or to Iford for advice, but he felt he
should not leave Sir Henry for the several days necessary.

Simon disclaimed any knowledge of the management of land,
but the truth was that he had absorbed a great deal of information simply by
living with Ian and Alinor. After Sir Harold described the problem, Simon began
to think he might have something useful to offer. There really was no need to
hurry back to Wales if Rhiannon was willing to stay.

Rarely had so simple, kind, and seemingly harmless a
decision precipitated so much mischief. In the beginning, everything was
innocent enough. Sir Henry was so flattered by Simon’s bringing his betrothed
to visit and so enlivened by Rhiannon’s company that he took a new lease on
life. Also, she suggested and taught a few new treatments to the maids who
attended the old man, easing his pain. Seeing him so well, Sir Harold asked
Simon if he would spend the night at a neighboring keep. A mild dispute over
hunting in the forest west of Kingsclere had arisen. Sir Harold felt that the
presence of his overlord’s son might lend force to his claim. Rhiannon was
agreeable, and it was decided that Sir Harold and Simon would go the next day.

There were times, after the king was forced to give orders
to return de Burgh to the church, when the Bishop of Winchester wondered
whether the task he had set himself was possible or worth doing. He had
believed that when de Burgh was overthrown, little more would be necessary than
to show Henry the way. He knew the king to be intelligent. He had not
remembered, he now realized, that Henry was also less interested in governing
than in music, art, and other amusements. He was controlled by his emotions,
and of a weak and vacillating temperament made even more difficult by bouts of
irrational and immovable stubbornness.

Still Winchester struggled on. Partly, he admitted it was
because he loved power, but there was also a real desire to reform and improve
what he considered a chaotic and unworkable form of government. He had expected
resistance, but not so much—and most of it was Henry’s fault. Like a child, the
king seized an ideal envisioned for the future after years of slow preparation
and expected it to work immediately. Then he reacted in fury when men objected
to having their “rights” infringed on. He did not stop to think that he had not
shown them first the great benefits that would ensue if they yielded to their
king.

It was Henry’s impatience and lack of restraint that had
necessitated the use of force. Now they were committed to that path, which was
the worst and most chancy. It was made even less certain because Henry was
moved by odd impulses of chivalry—a total foolishness. One must use every
weapon available.

That thought recurred to Winchester one afternoon as the
king fretted over his injuries. At the moment he had no outlet for his
frustration; he had already sent out the summonses for the levy to punish
Pembroke, and his ordinary pursuits bored him. He mentioned pettishly that
Winchester’s presence even deprived him of his newest delight—the singing of
Lady Rhiannon.

Instantly Winchester remembered that the girl was not only
an entertainer but Lord Llewelyn’s daughter and betrothed to Lord Ian’s son. He
cursed himself for forgetting her, but there had been so much haste and worry…
He was a fool for not laying hands on her at once, but Henry had been opposed
to it—another chivalric idiocy. It would not have been necessary if they had
been able to seize Pembroke. Now that that hope was gone, Lady Rhiannon might
be very useful.

She would be a strong weapon in the armory with which he
intended to threaten Llewelyn to keep him from joining Pembroke. Winchester was
not much worried about the danger the ragtag Welsh would provide. He was sure
his disciplined, well-trained mercenary forces would be victorious whether the
Welsh joined Pembroke or not, but there was no sense in fighting both if it was
not necessary. The Roselynde clan would be bitterly angry, but they could do
nothing while he held the girl, and afterward they would do nothing either.
After all, no harm would come to Lady Rhiannon; she would be kept in the
greatest luxury. All she would lose was a few months of freedom, and she might
even come to like it; many women did enjoy a life of idleness with no
responsibility. In any case, Ian had withstood worse assaults from John without
rebelling.

It had not occurred to anyone back in London that Simon and
Rhiannon would spend more than one or two nights at Kingsclere. Therefore, when
Roger de Cantelupe came from court two days after they left and asked that
Rhiannon come to sing, Ian answered blandly that his son had taken his
betrothed home. The messenger was clearly distressed, but that did not bother
Ian. Which way had they gone, Sir Roger asked. Ian never lied and could see no
reason to arouse animosity by refusing to answer, since he was sure Simon would
have left the keep long before the messenger could get to it. To Kingsclere
first, he replied, and after that he had no idea.

Had Ian known that Sir Roger came from Winchester rather
than from the king, he would have said nothing, but the messenger had been
intentionally deceitful—knowing how Winchester was regarded by most of the
nobility—and Ian’s nature was trusting. Winchester was furious when he heard
the bird had flown. Then he reconsidered. It would be better this way. No one
would know for some time that he had taken the girl and the youngest cub of the
lioness of Roselynde, except Llewelyn and Simon’s relatives. He would have
two
hostages and not need to trust to honor to keep Ian, Geoffrey, and Adam
passive.

He sent out a strong enough force to overpower Simon’s
guard, but told Roger de Cantelupe on no account to show the troop at
Kingsclere. Only Sir Roger himself was to enter there, and he was to discover
which road Simon and Rhiannon had taken toward Wales. They should be easy
enough to overtake. They would go slowly because of the woman, and they would
have no suspicion that they were being followed. Every attempt should be made to
convince them to return quietly. Any lie that would be useful would be absolved
without penance, and any promise at all could be made in the king’s name.

It was almost dark, but Sir Roger rode out anyway to satisfy
the bishop’s eagerness. It was some time before he discovered that they had
taken the wrong road in the dark. Sir Roger sensibly told his men to stop and
make camp. At dawn he found a village and asked directions, but Kingsclere was
not an important keep. Some honestly said they did not know; others, either
fearing punishment if they confessed ignorance or out of self-importance, made
wild guesses so that Sir Roger’s troop went even farther astray. About the time
that Simon and Sir Harold were being welcomed with somewhat restrained
cordiality at Highclere castle, Winchester’s messenger, cursing futilely, was
still trying to discover whether Kingsclere keep was north, south, east, or
west of him.

Actually, Sir Roger was not completely lost. When they came
to Henley they finally obtained directions Sir Roger felt he could trust. It
was past dinnertime by then, and he and his troop had not yet broken their
fast. Although he said nothing to his men, Sir Roger blamed Winchester. Had he
not been so impatient, they would have waited until dawn to leave, and none of
this would have happened. The resentment Sir Roger felt impelled him to give
permission for his men to stop and rest, buy food, and eat. Winchester would
never know, and he himself was hungry and thirsty. While he ate and refreshed
himself with a few draughts of the best wine, he considered his information.
They were north of their objective. They could go south crosscountry… No, Sir
Roger had had enough of that.