“Could he be one of the prince’s men?” Brian asked after a moment. “We expelled all we knew, but he could have remained behind.”
“We sent them back to John with letters of gratitude for his offers of security and a heavy purse to soften his temper, but ‘tis possible one or two evaded our search. Still, none of those who have sworn to me have reported a stranger in their midst. You would have noticed, for the routiers we hired are under your charge as master-at-arms.”
“Yea, and this man I do not know. He must be come lately. But how, I do not know.”
“Then we have access that threatens our security. We must find out how he got in, unless he is known by someone here. The tournament is in a week, and a host will soon descend upon us. Owain has made ready the field, carpenters build the galleries, and stonemasons labor long hours to complete the repairs to the wall breached by Raglan’s troops. All come to compete for prizes, and I intend to ensure Glynllew is not one of them.”
“You think it likely there will be attack?”
Rhys drew in a deep breath. “I think it possible. What better moment than when armed knights of uncertain loyalties are camped in the fields all around the castle?”
“Then why—”
“If there are those who wish to invade, I want it to be on my terms. Your training of the men-at-arms is vital. We must remain alert. Now. Let us go find someone who can identify this corpse. It begins to stink.”
Rain began to fall harder as they crossed the bailey to the gatehouse leading to the inner bailey. The stone keep rose high atop the mound, defensible steps leading to the doors, arrow slits and murder holes strategically staggered; rain filled the gutters, drooled from carved spouts in the form of gryffins, an affectation he thought unnecessarily fancy. Gryffins carved in stone lintels, fireplace mantels, wooden chairs, and tables filled the keep. Yet it fit the prophecy told to an impressionable young girl grieving her lost family, and he wondered if there was truth to the seer’s words. He knew well enough what Elspeth had meant; there could always be meaning found in prophecies if one searched closely enough. While he may not storm Arabian walls to retrieve her legacy, he could give her a new one. Give her a home, give her protection. Give her children.
This was Wales, not England. He had only to say the words, and they would be wed. No churching was required to make it legal.
First, he must assure his hold on Glynllew. While the king could always confiscate his lands for causes from treason to rebellion, staying in his good graces should prevent any drastic action. But blood was thicker than water, and it was never certain what King Richard would do if Prince John pursued his intent of taking Glynllew for the revenues. They were, according to the recent ledgers shared by Owain, considerable. Much more than he had ever thought, but the rents rendered had increased threefold of late.
They entered the guardroom; it smelled of wet wool and soldiers, familiar but unpleasant. Brian went in search of those who may know the dead man, while Rhys went up to his solar in search of Owain. He found him just closing the ledgers when he entered. “I hoped to find you here,” he said, closing the door.
“I was going to seek you out, my lord. My accounting of the ledgers is done, and there are things we should discuss.”
He crossed to the fireplace, shaking rain from his surcoat; it hissed against hot stones. “If you’re going to complain about tournament expenditures, I am not your man.”
“It is not your expenditures that concern me. I took you at your word. In his brief tenure here, Gareth spent quite unwisely. It is fortunate the harvest was good, the losses few.” Owain left unsaid the effects of war that lay waste to lands and families. Welsh against Welsh as well as English led to devastation. “There were monies doled out for curious expenses. Odd things, as too many marks spent on soap. Men-at-arms overpaid. And here—”
“I read the accounts. Gareth knew the king would require an accounting so has falsified expenditures to cover his theft.”
Owain seemed relieved to avoid having to accuse his lord’s kin of theft. He nodded. “Aye, my lord. ‘Tis fortunate he held Glynllew for such a short time. He could have ruined you.”
“He needn’t have bothered. I am well on the way to ruin myself with this tourney. Yet it will form alliances we need to survive and thrive.”
“Lord Gryffyd lessened costs. Villagers are setting up food stalls for spectators, while competitors will bring their tents and supplies. The most important guests will have access to the keep, but others will remain camped around the tourney field. Glynllew must bear the costs of visiting barons, but there will be only a few, with limited followers.”
When he paused, Rhys said, “Couriers were sent to Striguil, and the Marshal has accepted our invitation to attend the tournament.” Owain’s eyes widened. “Aye, we must prepare for a distinguished guest.”
“Will he enter the competition, my lord?”
“It is doubtful. But of course, if he desires, it will be an honor. His retinue must be fed and housed while here. Make arrangements with the bailiff and constable for accommodations.”
“I had thought the Marshal on campaign against the Prince of South Wales. His presence is unexpected.”
“So it is. But it is convenient, for it will be beneficial to have him as ally. Especially as Deheubarth has initiated hostilities again. It was unwise of King Richard not to honor him as King Henry had done. He has not been a threat to the English crown but adopted Norman manners and style, so that much of Wales now follows suit. As Prince of Deheubarth and justice of South Wales, Lord Rhys put aside all pretensions of regal ancestry to make peace with our Norman neighbors. But he also believes the best defense is to launch an offense if uncertain of the king’s temper, and Richard has done nothing to allay his misgivings.”
“Now that Deheubarth released his troublesome son Maelgwn from being incarcerated, we can expect trouble on that front,” Owain said gloomily. “The two oldest brothers quarrel with each other as well as their father and cast about for new conquests. It does not bode well.”
“We must welcome guests while maintaining rigid security.”
Sighing, Owain agreed. “Guards will be stationed at all gates of the castle, but we have not had trouble in the past. It has been safe here until your father died.”
Rhys thought about it when Owain had left. It was a turbulent time. War raged in Wales and England, yet Glynllew sat in peace. Except for a dead man in the outer bailey.
Chapter Eighteen
“HOW DID YOU sustain this injury?” Sasha asked, tending a wicked slash on Biagio’s left side. “A thumbs-breadth closer to your heart, and you would have died.”
Fire crackled on the hearth; the strong scent of herbs filled the air as she applied salve to the cleaned wound. When he didn’t reply, she looked up at his face, and her hands stilled. He gazed at her, dark eyes wide, his thoughts open to her.
You were right, bella. John’s man was here. He found me alone in the outer bailey. If not for the dog, I would not have seen him in time. When il Bandito distracted him, I was able to avoid the killing blow.
“Is he still here?” she murmured, head bent to avoid alerting Elspeth to trouble, as she sat in front of the window with her needle and mending.
Aye. Dead in the bailey.
“And he was alone?” Even her whisper seemed too loud, and her hands shook slightly as she realized the implications. There would be questions. Prince John’s man would be missed. If he had a companion, there would be an immediate outcry.
I am not certain. It happened so fast, but none made an attempt on me. Perhaps because the dog was there, yet I saw no one else close by.
Elspeth’s thoughts drifted toward her, mingling with Biagio’s, and she straightened. “You must be more careful,” she said loudly, “for many accidents in the kitchens are deadly.”
B
iagio took her meaning. “It was a meat hook and a clumsy cook. Do not eat the mutton, for it has been dragged across the floor.” He grinned when she looked at him. “Truly. It was not one of my finest moments.”
Beneath his cocky nonchalance lurked a sense of urgency. Sasha felt it. The past few days had seen her swing between a yearning to stay and the pressing need to flee. Perhaps she would chance it if ‘twas only her safety to guard, but she could not risk Elspeth and Biagio.
“Will you still be able to perform?” she asked him and briefly met his eyes. Their plan must go forward; the death of the prince’s man only made it more urgent. There would be more like him now that they had been discovered.
“Yea, when have I ever been unable?”
“I recall several times. The rope trick was especially embarrassing.”
Dismissing her words with a flick of his fingers beneath his chin, Biagio shrugged. “I slipped.”
She snorted derision. “You fell off the balcony into a burgher’s lap.”
“I warned you the tree would be better to perform the trick, but you insisted on doing it beneath the balcony.”
“Because there was no tree nearby. Pah! Do not think to be drunk this time, for we must be proficient enough to impress the crowd.”
From the window, Elspeth asked, “Does Lord Rhys know you intend to perform?”
“No,” said Sasha, turning to her. “I wish it to be a surprise. We have been working on a new trick.”
For a moment Elspeth didn’t speak. She gazed at Sasha, then Biagio, her brow furrowed. “I do not think this wise.”
Sasha read behind the words to the meaning. “We will be in disguise to escape notice.”
“Your disguises have never been effective,” Elspeth said dryly, and it was true.
“But they have frequently been confusing,” Sasha replied, “and we have expanded on that with this trick. You will see. You’ll still be there to watch, won’t you?”
“Oh, aye, for I have no intention of missing the spectacle you always provide. It has given me some of my heartiest laughs.”
Tilting her head in salute, Sasha said, “I am always happy to amuse.”
Biagio snorted, but wisely did not offer comment.
“Meet me in the cellar vault,” she murmured as she walked him to the door. He’d pulled his tunic back down and worked at tying his belt, nodding understanding.
As soon as I get away from Cook after supper.
When she returned to the small table before the fire, cleaning up her herbs and bandages, Elspeth watched silently. Sasha felt her gaze but did not acknowledge it.
She finished tidying up, tucked the herb cask back into her trunk, then went to stand in front of Elspeth by the window. Light flooded through despite the rain; fickle Welsh weather could ruin it all. Open shutters allowed in damp breezes that smelled of wet stone and the cesspit below. This chamber did not look out over the moat, and the garderobe in the wall emptied into a deep pit. Men worked, digging it out, making ready for the important visitors who would arrive for the tourney.
Leaning against the embrasure, she peered down at them, wrinkling her nose as she recognized Bowen among the laborers. He had received his lashes the week before, and now Owain’s son completed his punishment by being humiliated. It was, she thought, a remarkably light punishment when he had been accused of treachery. She remembered Bowen from her first night at Glynllew, when he had answered evasively to Gareth’s questions. He had not wanted to be among those who had taken her from the wood, nor had he wanted to cause her harm. She’d thought then that he was forced to swear a loyalty to Gareth that he didn’t feel, and was sorry that he had suffered for it.
Sasha. You are hiding something from me. Pray, do not do anything dangerous.
Sighing, she turned to look at Elspeth. Worried blue eyes looked back at her. “It will be all right,” she said softly, but Elspeth shook her head.
“It will be another midnight flight from disaster. I see it in your eyes. Why? Do you feel naught for the lord of Glynllew?”
How did she answer that? How did she share the misery and heartbreak that the mere thought of leaving Rhys caused her? But to stay would see him stripped of castle and lands, for blame for her actions would likely be cast upon the man who harbored her. Rhys had made no secret of his regard for her, seating her on his left side at the high table, a place reserved for those of importance. All at Glynllew knew it.
So she said casually, “We share a bed, no more. He has not spoken of love.”
But that wasn’t true. Closeted behind the drawn bed-hangings, luxuriating in the intimacy they shared, Rhys murmured words she didn’t understand but words she did, love words, kissing her between each one at times, sweeping her with him into pleasure and sweet dreams. The past nights of passion had been the memories she would take with her, cherishing them.
She longed to stay, but Prince John would delight in confiscating Glynllew on charges as a conspirator, whether true or not. She had heard enough of the prince’s machinations to estimate his character, even if the damning letter had not been proof.
The letter. It would be either her salvation or her destruction.
After a moment Elspeth said, “Windsor changed all, did it not?”
Sasha blinked, startled by her perception. What had given her away?
“I do not know your meaning,” she murmured, but Elspeth shook her head.
“It was leaving there as we did, fleeing in the night as if hares before the hounds, that set you on this path. I know that you and Biagio think to shelter me, but not knowing the truth can be more dangerous than knowing it.”
“Not all truths. There are some things ‘tis best not to know.”
“Cease, child. I know you. I am not blind nor deaf, just weary. Our direction changed in a trice after Windsor, haring about the countryside, hiding by day, traveling at night, then traveling by day and hiding by night. You tried to leave me at Godstow nunnery. We wore disguises, and there have been no more performances since Windsor. Yet now you wish to perform when there is no need of coin, no need of favor? There is mischief afoot. I feel it.”
Flattening her palm against the cool, damp stone, Sasha drew in a deep breath that tasted of rain and ordure. “Yea,” she murmured. “It is my fault, my grievous fault.”
“Shush. Tell me all.”
“It was the dance of the veils,” she began, lowering her voice as if the walls had ears. “I performed for the prince and his wife, if you recall. It was a small gathering, but the reward was to be great. Biagio was with me and, of course, the doves. It went well. They were properly impressed when I made the doves appear out of empty air. When the prince dismissed us, a man showed us to the door. He refused to pay. I protested that we were promised two marks.”
Elspeth’s eyes widened, and Sasha nodded. “I know. A veritable fortune. The prince left, his wife with him, and as he passed I asked if we had displeased him. He said, ‘You may tell your children you performed for a king one day.’ So I asked how much bread that would buy, but his man shoved me rudely out into the corridor. I was so angry—you know how my temper is at times—and left Biagio with the doves and cage to follow after him. I know. Do not look at me like that. I had the devil in me, as you so often say. When his wife—who said hardly a word all evening—parted company from him, I still followed. Then the prince went into a chamber and closed the door. Two men-at-arms waited without, so I knew I had failed to gain an audience.”
She paused, deciding not to share the thoughts she had heard from the prince, dark evil that chilled her to the bone, and continued, “I would have returned to the hall, but I was lost. It was ill-lit, and I knew not which way to turn. If someone had come along, I would have followed them, but thought it best to linger in the shadows to wait so as not to attract attention.”
“Aye, men prey upon young women alone,” Elspeth said with a shake of her head.
“Exactly so. But there I was, cold and nervous, not knowing what to do. Then the prince opened the door and sent one of the men-at-arms on an errand. I would have followed, but did not want them to see me, so decided to wait until he returned and hope there would be a moment I could slip away. The soldier returned, bringing a man with him. A Norman, tall and smelling of too much wine. He met with the prince for only a moment, then came out, and this time toward where I hid in the shadows of a wall recess. I was so relieved. If he had been sent on an errand, I could follow him to the hall.”
She took another breath, remembering the moment, the terror of her situation, the frantic thoughts that ran through her mind, then said, “He saw me. He looked back, but the men-at-arms took no notice, and he pushed me back into the recess, putting a hand over my mouth to silence me. He said nothing, but I knew his thoughts, knew what he would do. I bit him. He grunted and put a hand over my throat, squeezing until I could barely breathe or see—then Biagio found me.”
Elspeth had reached out in the telling and taken her hand, held it, lending her courage as she talked, and Sasha realized it released a burden to tell of it, to share it with her, to know that she had survived.
“Biagio attacked him, there was a scuffle—I was lightheaded, so barely able to see what happened, then the prince was there, having come out of his chamber at the commotion. He sent the man on his way, telling him he was not to delay. I thought for a moment that he might assist, but he only told us to leave at once before he had us thrown out a window. We ran for our lives, I can tell you.”
“And that is why we fled in the night?”
“That is part of it. In the scuffle, Biagio was left with the courier’s pouch. We did not realize what was in it until we got outside the keep and walls. It was a letter from the prince to one of the barons.” She drew in a deep breath. “It speaks of treason and would surely earn John his head on a pike at the city gates.”
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