Chapter 37
May, 1177
Rhuddlan Castle, Gwynedd
The men’s voices rose in an angry wave. Richard Delamere got to his feet and held his hands out in an effort to quell the torrent which threatened to wash over him. “Peace,” he urged. “Peace. Let’s talk quietly.”
“What’s there to talk about, Sir Richard?” someone in the back of the room shouted. “It’s obvious he’s gone mad!” There were noises of agreement.
“That isn’t true and I’ll challenge the next man who repeats it!” Delamere said so fiercely that the protesting subsided at once. He relaxed his stance a little and tried to sound reasonable. “I think we’d all react similarly if an enemy burst into our homes and stole our wives—”
“He doesn’t even like his!” Warin fitz Maurice said.
“That’s what makes his behavior so irrational, Sir Richard!” said someone else and everyone laughed.
Delamere allowed the joke at Longsword’s expense because it was preferable to the mutinous speeches he’d been listening to nearly all morning. When the men had quieted again, he continued. “We should all be ashamed that Rhirid ap Maelgwn was able to steal into Rhuddlan and back out with Lady Teleri so easily. We were all fooled by his ruse.” He paused. “De Vire’s dismissal was the result of bad temper, not insanity.”
The grumbling began anew. Guy Lene, seated on one of the barrack benches, raised his voice. “It’s a bad temper that’s lasted too long, Sir Richard! We don’t deserve it! We’ve served him loyally these past three years! And there was his reaction when I told him his slut Gladys didn’t want to come back here—I thought he would kill me! As if it was my fault what happened! Sir Richard, if this and getting rid of de Vire are indications of the kind of arbitrary behavior we can expect from him from now on, why should we feel compelled to stay here and serve him?”
“We’ve all sworn our allegiance…” Delamere said warningly.
“He won’t even listen to you any longer, Sir Richard! That’s how bad it is! The king ought to be told. Of all people, Lord William might listen to him!”
“No!” Delamere quashed the suggestion right away. The men were upset about de Vire’s treatment and, he thought, rightly so. But involving the king would not help matters. The last thing Longsword needed was his father sweeping into Rhuddlan with his army, crushing Rhirid and snatching back Teleri in his usual blunt fashion, all the while berating his son for causing a diplomatic crisis in Gwynedd. “The only thing we’re going to do is deal with Rhirid. That’s all Lord William needs to shift his mood. You saw how he was when we rode to the abbey—his old self. All he needs is activity.”
Finally, he saw a few nods—grudgingly given but at least his point was conceded. Encouraged, he continued strongly, “You say we’ve been with Lord William three years now; well, then, you should know his current mood isn’t natural to him. And to threaten to leave his service because of it after he’s been the perfect master for all but one month of those three years is just as arbitrary an action as his dismissal of Ralph de Vire!”
Now he saw embarrassed expressions and more vigorous nods. Lene looked chastened. “Sir Richard, I apologize,” he said, standing up. “I was talking without thinking.”
“I’m sure we can all understand that,” Delamere said dryly. “And that includes Lord William.” He surveyed the room silently. He seemed to have made his point; there was no face which didn’t watch him expectantly. “What I’m about to say is in strictest confidence. It doesn’t leave this room.” He took a deep breath. “It was told to me that Lady Teleri was not abducted from Rhuddlan in the usual meaning of the word. It appears there was no struggle, no force used. Apparently, she went with Rhirid quite willingly.”
As far as he knew, it was a lie; in fact, Teleri’s servants had been hysterical, claiming their mistress had been dragged away screaming. But he had to deflect the men’s dissatisfaction with Longsword to a more unsympathetic target and his words had the effect he’d wanted: from the angry clamor which broke out, it was clear the men were outraged on behalf of their lord, and from the way they all surged towards him at once, it was obvious to Delamere that they were ready to do something about it.
When Delamere had told the men that all Longsword needed to put him right was a bit of physical exertion, he spoke with a confidence he didn’t entirely feel. He was bewildered by Longsword’s devasted reaction to the way events had unfolded and Gwalaes’ subsequent departure. He’d never known Longsword to show such passion for anyone other than his father and consequently, perhaps, he’d never believed Longsword was capable of it for anyone else. Coupled with the bewilderment was guilt. He imagined that if he’d acted on Teleri’s information as soon as he’d heard it, he might have saved Longsword some grief; at the least, he would have saved him the shock of that horrific encounter with Chester.
Teleri had been right and he’d been wrong about the depth of Longsword’s infatuation. But Delamere was determined not to allow the rest of Teleri’s prediction to come true. He would not allow the men’s loyalty to slip away from Longsword. He viewed it as his only chance to redeem himself to his friend.
“Are you just going to stand there?”
The harsh tone of Longsword’s voice jerked him back to the present. He was standing in the doorway to the council chamber. Beyond the door Longsword sat in his great chair, a cup in one hand, a glaze of tension and anger over his eyes. As Delamere watched, he raised the cup, tipped its contents into his mouth and drank until there was nothing left. He wiped his other hand across his mouth and gave him a baleful stare.
“Well? What’s wrong? Have you come to gape at me or do you want something?”
“I want something,” Delamere said, subdued by the sight before him. He stepped into the room and closed the door. Longsword’s appearance was horrible. His face was unshaved, haggard and bore a greyish tint, his hair was lank and unkempt and an odor clung to him which Delamere remembered but couldn’t quite recognize and which made him uneasy. He was slumped in his chair and wore the same clothing he’d been wearing for days. Only his angry, narrowed eyes showed there was life left in him…
Delamere started. Now he recognized the smell. It was the same mixture of unwashed body and sickness which had surrounded Longsword when he’d been in the throes of his fever after his wound had reopened. It was the smell of death.
“I don’t like the atmosphere in Gwynedd lately,” he said, struggling to ignore the stench. “And I feel my family is vulnerable. I’d like permission to go to the manor, collect Olwen and the boys and bring them here.”
Longsword laughed mockingly. “You think Rhuddlan is safer than your manor? You always do see the positive side of things.” He paused a moment but Delamere didn’t respond. He waved his cup. “Go ahead; do what you want.”
“Thank you.” How strangely they were talking to each other, Delamere thought. But the whole situation was strange, he supposed. How much longer could Longsword go on like this…
“By the way, how was the meeting?” Longsword asked, just as Delamere reached the door. “Don’t look so surprised; of course I knew about it. Well? How did it go? They think I treated de Vire abominably. I’ve heard the grumbling. Obviously they’ve calmed down and have decided to stay with me or you would have told me. Unless you don’t want to be involved. Is that what it is? This visit to your manor—is it only a pretext to be gone while the others tell me they’ve lost faith in my abilities?”
“No!” Delamere said, stung. “Even if what you believe about your men is true I wouldn’t behave so cowardly! Yes, there was a meeting. Naturally, everyone’s upset about de Vire but—”
“They’re upset?” Longsword suddenly bellowed, and to Delamere it seemed that he’d been waiting restlessly for this one moment. He sprung up from his chair and hurled his cup to the floor. “He had one simple task—to guard the fortress in our absence—and he couldn’t do it! We’re hardly in the middle of civilized country, Richard; if a man can’t do his
job, it could mean death for all of us! And it might have but for some reason only Rhirid knows.” He glared at Delamere. “They’re upset? They’re not the one who has to explain to Prince Dafydd that some petty chieftain simply walked in and carried off his niece!”
“I’m not debating the point with you, Will—” Delamere started.
“Are you not? You probably agree with them.” Longsword went to the sideboard and poured wine from the pitcher there into a new cup. He turned back towards the other man and said challengingly, “Do you think I did the wrong thing?”
Delamere considered his answer carefully. “I don’t think you would have done it a month ago.”
For a moment, Longsword simply stared at him, his face expressionless. Delamere began to grow uneasy under the unblinking scrutiny, unable to guess Longsword’s response although he assumed, because that was the kind of mood Longsword seemed to be in, that it would be loud, hostile and defensive.
He was wrong.
“A month ago,” Longsword said quietly, with only the slightest edge, “I had the birth of a son to look forward to, I had a woman living in my house whom I loved and I even had a wife. Now I have nothing. I don’t expect you to understand, Richard. Everything in your life is perfect. It’s always been easy for you but for me it’s been one long battle to prove myself and for what? A hovel in Wales and retainers who want to desert me at the first sign of trouble.” He looked down at the cup in his hands. “I was angry when my father told me he was sending me to Gwynedd, to keep me out of the Young King’s way. Remember? I had wanted him to make me an earl, at least, but he wouldn’t. He must have known…”
Delamere, his attention diverted from the outrageous claim that his life was so wonderful and despite a private vow not to continue to feed his friend’s highly developed sense of self-pity, asked curiously, “Known what?”
Longsword glanced up. “That I couldn’t do it,” he said in a tone which implied anyone over the age of infancy knew so obvious an answer. “That I’m not a fit leader. That’s why he sent me where I could do the least harm.”
“And you promptly got into a feud with one of your neighbors, was almost killed by him and have now had your wife kidnapped by him! Does that sound like least harm?” Delamere snapped. “For Christ’s sake, William, stop feeling sorry for yourself! You’ve got to make a decision: either go back to the king, tell him you couldn’t stick it and offer him your service, or put the past behind you and get on with your work!”
Another pause. Then Longsword said quietly, “I’ll go back to the king.”
Delamere was incredulous. “You can’t do that, Will!”
Longsword took a deep breath and let it out with a shudder. He sat down heavily in his chair and to Delamere it seemed as if the statement had greatly eased his tension. His expression was suddenly more tired than angered and when he spoke, his voice was unemotional. “I don’t care anymore, Richard. I’m not feeling sorry for myself; I just don’t care. Everything I’ve ever wanted has been taken from me and right now Rhirid doesn’t bother me a bit. Let him win.”
Delamere crossed the room with an urgent stride. “Will, you don’t mean that. Perhaps you’ve lost Gwalaes and Gladys but what about Teleri? She’s your wife and she’s been kidnapped by Rhirid—you can’t let him get away with it!”
“If I send a messenger to Dafydd, he can force Rhirid to give her up much sooner than I could if I scoured the hills for her.”
“I can’t believe what I’m hearing!” Delamere exclaimed. “You don’t care that Rhirid’s made a fool of you and Dafydd will know it? Have you never thought that perhaps the reason Rhirid didn’t wait in ambush for us was because the greater insult to you was for him to steal your wife away from under your nose? Doesn’t that infuriate you?”
Longsword looked up at him, unsmiling. “A month ago, it would have.”
“Will, stop joking—”
“I’m not joking, Richard!” His gaze was steady. “You know, there’s a certain freedom in not caring…”
Delamere controlled himself with effort. “Is that so?” he retorted quietly. “I have no idea…and neither do the sixty-odd men in the barracks who have sworn their swords to you. Do you know what I’m thinking, Will? That perhaps the king made you custodian of Rhuddlan Castle to teach you how to lead. To teach you how to stop putting yourself first all the time and instead make decisions and take actions which result in what is best for the entire kingdom!”
In Longsword’s ensuing stunned silence, he turned on his heel and strode out of the room, slamming the door shut behind him.