When Christ and his Saints Slept eoa-1

by Sharon Kay Penman

  When she finally fell asleep, it wasn’t peaceful. She was dreaming of Ranulf, but there was no joy in it, just unease and shadows and an ominous sense of foreboding, for they’d not gotten a letter from him in months, and Rhiannon had no proof that he was even still alive. She tossed and turned restlessly, and was glad to be awakened by the opening door.

  It was a man’s footstep, too light for Rhodri, too heavy for Selwyn. Rhiannon sat up, puzzled, and listened again. Who else could it be but Papa or the lad? And then she caught her breath. “Ranulf?” she whispered, half afraid to let herself hope, and was rewarded with a sound sweeter to her than the heavenly harps of the Almighty’s own angels-Ranulf’s laughter.

  “You are truly amazing, lass! How is it that you can remember the sound of my step after so many months?”

  She could have told him it was because she’d heard those footsteps echoing through her dreams almost every night since he’d gone away, but of course nothing short of torture would have gotten that out of her. “I am so glad you’ve come back, Ranulf,” she said instead, and added a silent prayer that this time he would stay.

  THE fortnight that followed was the happiest of Rhiannon’s life. She knew it couldn’t last, that sooner or later Ranulf would ride off again; he’d said as much, that he’d agreed to join Henry in Normandy. But she resolutely refused to think about that. He could always change his mind. For the moment, it was enough that he was safe and well and home.

  Ranulf had returned in high spirits, bringing gifts and gossip from the world that lay beyond the mountains of Eryri. He enthralled them with dramatic accounts of the escape from Dursely and the triumph at Devizes. He horrified them with stories of the suffering Stephen had loosed upon his own subjects. And he fascinated them with reports of the scandal that had trailed the French monarchs all the way from Palestine.

  Rhiannon and Eleri did not find Eleanor’s thwarted attempt to escape her marital bonds as surprising as Ranulf had; Welsh women enjoyed liberties unheard-of in the rest of Christendom, one of them being the right to walk away from a miserable marriage. They sympathized instinctively with the spirited French queen, were indignant that she should have been forced to accompany her husband from Antioch, and listened spellbound when Ranulf revealed the unexpected twist to this sad tale.

  On their way home from the Holy Land, he related, they’d passed some days in Italy, as guests of the Pope, and the elderly pontiff had set himself a herculean task: mending the rift between these utterly mismatched souls. He had even gone so far, Ranulf divulged, as to escort them to bed and urge them to make their peace between the sheets. The Pope’s blessing seemed to have paid off, for Eleanor was now pregnant, for only the third time in thirteen years. The child was due that summer, and the French king’s subjects were waiting anxiously to see if, after a miscarriage and a daughter, she would at last bear him a son.

  Each morning, Rhiannon awakened with the same subversive thought, one she quickly disavowed: Would this be the day that Ranulf announced he’d soon be leaving? But it was not Ranulf who brought this interlude to an abrupt end; it was her father.

  A damp darkness had fallen by the time Rhiannon started out to the stables with a jug of milk, meant for the stable cat and her kittens. Cats were rarely kept as pets, except in nunneries, but Rhiannon was enchanted by them, for she did not need sight to appreciate their sleek lines and soft fur and lulling purr. She had just reached their well when Rhodri rode in. Hastily dismounting, he sent his horse off to the stables with Selwyn, and hurried toward his daughter.

  “Is Ranulf within? I must talk to him straightaway, lass. I’ve come up with a way to keep him in Wales, here with us where he belongs!”

  Rhiannon’s heartbeat picked up a quicker rhythm. “Truly, Papa? How?”

  Rhodri reached out and gripped her by the elbows; she could tell by the tone of his voice that he was smiling. “I am going to name him as my heir and convince him to take Eleri as his wife.” He heard her gasp and enveloped her in an expansive hug; she found her face pressed against the wet wool of his mantle, the feel scratchy and smothering. “It is the ideal solution, Rhiannon. Where could I hope to find a better brother-in-law for you? And Ranulf and Eleri will have a good marriage, whilst making their home and raising their children on our land. I tell you, lambkin, it is well-nigh perfect!”

  Rhiannon was too stunned to respond, but Rhodri was too jubilant to notice. “You’d best go feed those flea-bitten cats ere I decide to drown the sorry lot,” he teased. “But do not tarry longer than need be with the mangy beasts, for we’ll have much to celebrate this night!”

  Rhiannon caught the edge of the well enclosure, held on so tightly that the stones left imprints in the palms of her hands. She needed the physical contact, a way of reassuring herself that there was still something in her world that was familiar, safe. She’d sometimes wondered what it must be like to be drunk, to have all her senses blurred by mead. Now…she knew. Reality as she’d known it had fled forever as soon as her father had begun speaking.

  Gradually some of the shock faded, and her numbed brain started to function again. She could not let this happen. She must stop her father ere it was too late. She’d dropped the milk jug, tripped over it now as she moved away from the well, but managed to keep her footing. She’d gotten herself turned around, though, and when she started for the house, she was actually going in the opposite direction. It was not until she caught the smell of hay and horses that she realized her mistake. Spinning away from the stable, she began to retrace her steps, nearly weeping with frustration and fear that she’d not be in time. When she heard her name called behind her, she grabbed Selwyn’s arm as he came up beside her. “Take me to the hall,” she demanded, “quickly!”

  Selwyn was surprised, for Rhiannon could be as prickly as a hedgehog when her independence was concerned. But he did as she bade, and led her back across the bailey, doing his best to avoid the worst patches of mud. Rhiannon would not have noticed had he steered her into a swamp, and she forgot to thank him when they at last reached the hall. “Papa,” she cried, “Papa, where are you?”

  “Whatever is the man up to, Rhiannon? Never have I seen Rhodri look so full of himself, like a lad who’d discovered where his birthday present was hidden away!” The voice was Enid’s, amused and fondly indulgent. “He said nary a word, did not even shed his mantle ere he dragged Ranulf off to our bedchamber! Do you know what-”

  Rhiannon heard no more. Turning away, she plunged through the doorway, back out into the blackness of the bailey. It was all she could think to do, for she could not go to her bedchamber; Eleri was there and would need one look at her face to know something was dreadfully wrong. She could not deal with Eleri or Enid now. She had to have some time alone, time to decide what to do. The afternoon drizzle had stopped and the air was dry but very cold. She stepped unheedingly into the puddles, getting her feet wet and her skirts muddied. She was shivering, and when she tasted salt on her tongue, she realized she was crying, too, but for the moment, all that mattered was reaching the stables, the only sanctuary she had left.

  Stumbling into the stables, she called out repeatedly until she was sure she was alone, and then sank down upon a bale of hay. She heard nickering and snorting as horses craned their necks over their stall doors, hoping she’d brought treats again, and once the cats discovered her, the kittens began to pounce on her ankles and climb up her skirts. She felt leaden with fatigue, not moving even when they dug their needlesharp little claws into her leg. She could not let this marriage come to pass. Blessed Lady Mary, hear your servant Rhiannon’s plea. It must not happen.

  She would have to tell her father. She’d fought so hard to keep her secret. Mayhap Enid suspected, but no one else did. She’d made sure of that. All for naught now. And once she spoke up…what then? She’d break her father’s heart by thwarting this marriage. And what of Eleri? What if she truly wanted to marry Ranulf? Ranulf. He’d have to be told, too, and nothing would ever be the same between
them after that. Their friendship-all she’d dared hope to have from him-would be spoiled, poisoned by his pity. And then he’d go away again, and this time he would not be back.

  She shivered again, as much from the anticipated humiliation as from the cold. How could she bear to do this? Casting aside her pride would be worse than being stripped naked. But how could she keep silent? How could she live under the same roof with Ranulf and Eleri once they were wed? Bidding them goodnight at the door of their bedchamber. Hearing the new intimacy in their laughter. Lying awake at night, unwillingly imagining their lovemaking. Awaiting Eleri’s announcement that she was with child. How could she ever endure it? How could she not give herself away a hundred times a day?

  What then, was she to do? Papa’s house was her only refuge. She had nowhere else to go. No other kin. Even if she’d wanted to pledge the rest of her life to God, no convent would accept a blind nun. She could feel the stirrings of an old enemy, one she’d thought she’d long ago vanquished. But panic could never truly be defeated; the best she could hope for was to keep it caged, under control. Now, though, she could hear it rattling the latch, seeking a way out.

  She forced herself to draw several deep, bracing breaths, willing the cage bars to hold. Why had she been so quick to conclude that her father would prevail? Ranulf might well refuse. For an instant, hope flickered. But what man would not want to wed Eleri? She was pretty, lively, clever…whole.

  In the years since her sight faded, many of Rhiannon’s visual images had faded, too. But she’d loved the sea, and she could still summon up vivid memories of foaming waves churning shoreward, breaking upon the beach and then retreating, leaving a trail of white spume across the wet sand. The jealousy that engulfed her now was like one of those powerful, surging waves, crashing down upon her without warning and receding just as quickly, leaving her shaken by the impact and horrified by the realization that she could feel such intense resentment toward Eleri, who’d done nothing to deserve it. It was not fair to blame Eleri for not being blind. But neither was it fair that she should be punished for a love that she’d have taken quietly to her grave. How could the Almighty ask so much more of her? Was it not enough that she must live out her days in darkness? Shocked that she could harbor such a blasphemous rage against God, she hastily crossed herself and then began to weep, muffling her sobs in her mantle so that no one passing by could hear.

  “ Well?” Ranulf asked, leaning back in his seat with a curious smile. “What would you say to me, Uncle?”

  “It is much too important to discuss sober, lad. Help yourself to some mead whilst I decide how best to begin.”

  Ranulf obligingly took several swallows, although he’d not yet developed a taste for the Welsh beverage. “This gets to me faster than wine,” he warned. “Two flagons and I’m likely to start telling you secrets not even my confessor ought to hear!”

  Rhodri laughed, then reached across the table and gripped his nephew’s arm. “I’ve never been one for tact or diplomacy, so I’m just going to blurt it out. Ere I do, though, there is something you need to know. Were you aware that under Welsh law, women cannot inherit land?”

  Ranulf was startled. “No, I was not. That surprises me very much, for it was my understanding that Welsh law was uncommonly kind to women.”

  “The restriction was not meant to punish our womenfolk. It is a matter of practicality. You see, lad, land is a sacred trust to us, passed down from father to son. A man cannot sell his son’s birthright; he but holds the land for his heirs. And because we know mankind is by nature as predatory as the wolf, no one can inherit who is not able to defend his lands from attack. Our laws exclude men crippled or deaf or blind or stricken with leprosy, as well as women.”

  “What happens if a man has no male heirs?”

  “When he dies, his lands escheat to the king.”

  Ranulf sipped his mead slowly, grappling with the implications of what he’d just been told. “Jesu, but you’re in the same plight as my father was after the White Ship sank! When you lost your last son, Cadell, you lost your lands, too, then?”

  Rhodri nodded. “Or so I thought…until God sent you back to us, Ranulf.”

  “Me? I’m only half Welsh!”

  “Half is enough. Our law allows the sons of Welsh women to inherit, even if the father is an alltud, a foreigner.”

  “But…but I am illegitimate! Surely you’ve not forgotten that?”

  “A son need not be born in wedlock to claim his birthright, not in Wales. It is enough if he is recognized by his father…or in your case, by your closest male kin-me!”

  Ranulf gaped at the older man, dumbfounded. “Are you saying that you want to name me as your heir?”

  “I want to do more than that, Ranulf. I want you as my heir…and son-in-law. I know I’ve taken you by surprise,” he added hastily, “but just wait, lad, hear me out. Eleri will be sixteen next month, old enough to be wed. She’d make you a good wife, I’ve no doubt of it. She is pretty and spirited and I know you’re right fond of her-”

  “Of course I am! But we are first cousins. We’d have to seek a dispensation from the Church ere we could wed, and it is not likely we’d get one.”

  Rhodri grinned triumphantly. “You’d not need one, not in Wales. We wed our cousins all the time. ‘Marry in the kin,’ we say, and ‘fight the feud with the stranger.’”

  “I…I do not know what to say, Uncle. In truth, I never thought of Eleri as a wife.”

  “I know I’ve caught you off balance, lad. Suppose we back up, give you a chance to catch your breath. Let’s start with Wales. Could you be happy living here?”

  Ranulf was silent for some moments. “Yes,” he said at last, sounding surprised, “I believe I could…”

  Rhodri nodded emphatically. “Of course you could! It was meant to be, Ranulf. You think it was mere chance that brought you into Wales? Indeed not! I prayed to the Almighty for aid and He heard my plea. If only Angharad could have known that her son would be restored to us! And once you wed Eleri-”

  Ranulf gave an abrupt, overwhelmed laugh. “Whoa! You’re going too fast for me, Uncle. You’re offering me so much-your lands and your daughter. It does not seem like a fair bargain. What do you get in return?”

  “You’d be giving me a gift beyond price: peace of mind. This land was my father’s and his father’s before him. I do not want our family to lose it, and if you stay in Wales, we will not. And of equal importance to me, I know you’d do right by my daughters. I’d not want to count all the nights I’ve lain awake, fearing what might happen to Rhiannon after I died. She will be dependent upon the goodwill of Eleri’s husband once I am gone, so in choosing a husband for Eleri, I must choose for them both. With you, I could be sure that my Rhiannon would always have a home, that she would want for nothing.”

  “Rhiannon,” Ranulf said thoughtfully. “Yes, I am beginning to see…”

  Rhodri started to speak, but then stopped. He’d said enough. Now it was up to his nephew. He must not push. Ranulf had to want this for it to work. But forbearance did not come easily to him; he’d always been one for acting, even if it was ill advised, and he was soon squirming impatiently. “I do not mean to rush you, Ranulf. Take as much time as you need,” he offered, with an utter lack of conviction.

  Ranulf reached for his mead cup, regarding his uncle with affectionate understanding. “You’d not be able to wait for your own salvation, Uncle! I was tempted to tell you I’d need a week to make up my mind, but you’d be sore crazed by midnight. Fortunately for your nerves, I can give you my answer now. I cannot marry Eleri. But I will marry Rhiannon…if she’ll have me.”

  Ranulf got the reaction he’d expected; his uncle’s jaw dropped and his eyes opened wide. But he’d thought that surprise would give way to elation. Instead, Rhodri looked wary.

  “Rhiannon holds my heart in the palm of her hand,” Rhodri said, choosing his words with conspicuous care. “After she lost her sight, I swore by our own St Davydd that she’d
lose nothing else, not as long as I drew breath. When she reached womanhood, I tried mightily to find her a husband, for I wanted her to have all that other women did. She may not be as fair to look upon as Eleri, but she is still a handsome lass, and kind and quick-witted in the bargain. But she could have been as beautiful as this French queen I hear so much talk about, and as saintly as the Blessed Virgin Mary, and it would still have availed her naught. I could find no man willing to take a blind wife. Why, then, would you be willing, Ranulf?”

  “I am not asking for a ‘blind wife.’ I am asking for Rhiannon. But it is a fair question, Uncle. Two years ago, I would not have been willing, either. But I lived under the same roof with Rhiannon for nigh on a year. I’ve seen her light candles and mend tablecloths and do any number of chores that I would not have believed a blind person could do. She taught me that ‘blind’ was not another word for ‘helpless,’ and I came to admire her courage and value her integrity. Your daughter is a remarkable woman. The men who were so quick to reject Rhiannon just never got a chance to find that out.”

  “That is an honest answer. I can see the sense in what you say. But tell me this, Ranulf. Why Rhiannon and not Eleri? Why choose the harder road?”

  “If you were to start hunting a husband for Eleri, you’d have no trouble finding a hundred men willing-nay, eager-to take her to wife. Eleri does not need me. Rhiannon does. I can give her what no one else will, what other women take for granted-a home and children.”

  “Are you sure, lad…truly sure this is what you want?” When Ranulf nodded, Rhodri bounded out of his chair, raced around the table, and grabbed his nephew in a loving choke-hold. “You’ve won me over,” he chortled. “Now go win my Rhiannon!”

  Ranulf eventually found Rhiannon in the stables, seated on a bale of hay, a sleeping kitten in her lap. “There you are, lass! Why are you sitting out here in the dark?” Hearing his own words, he laughed ruefully. “Hellfire, I’m still doing it!”