Of course she could not write these things, or ever say them. Nor could she speak of the sadness that rose in her every morning as she watched him leave her to her business as he went on his. It was plain he preferred to be outside the castle walls, and there was work enough without. She did not begrudge him this, fitting as it was with his duties as lord, but she could not help but feel the loss of him by her side. Unlikely as it seemed, she had come to be reassured by his very presence. It felt possible that she might learn to belong here, when he took her hand in his.
The thought comforted her at the same time it agitated her spirits further. All her senses heightened, sensing the danger in it, in him. Too often was she reminded of the man he was, with every servant of Morency shrinking from his gaze as though from the devil himself. Even if she scorned such fears, there was no denying he was King Edward’s creature through and through. No matter what sins Lord Aymer had committed, he had loved Ranulf well, and trusted him – and paid for it with his life.
Gradually she became aware that someone was calling to her, coming toward her through the trees. She folded the unused page and slipped it back into the box with a snort. Davydd approached, and with him was a figure from what felt like a lifetime ago.
“Gwyn!” She felt her smile spread wide, and quickly turned her face down to conceal it. She wanted to leap at him and embrace him, an untrammeled joy that was too eager, too unbecoming of a commander or a dignified lady.
She composed herself and raised her eyes, only to find that Gwyn had sunk in a deep bow to her. It confused her that he was so formal, until she remembered her fine gown, and who she was now.
“Rise and tell me, kinsmen, how you are here. Did you not travel to Ruardean as I bade you?”
He nodded, rising. “Aye, my lady, and with all haste. There and back to Windsor at Lady Eluned’s command, where they told us you were to be found here, and so we are come.”
He was spattered with the mud and dirt of his journey, and covered over with weariness.
“You are come fully three days before ever I thought you might reach us. Tell me what message from my mother must be sent with such speed as this?”
“No message, Pennaeth Du, but the lady herself.”
Gwenllian could only stare at him, uncomprehending.
“Which… which lady?”
Gwyn and Davydd looked at each other and in their awkwardness she finally allowed herself to understand. Still she was numb.
“The Lady Eluned. Yes,” she said, answering a question that had not been asked. She wanted to shake her head in disbelief, but she was paralyzed. Her mother. Here. At Morency. What should be done first? “Yes, send for my lord. He will want to give her proper greeting when she arrives.”
Gwyn’s look of amazement could not be mistaken. She allowed herself to wonder if it was because she spoke the words my lord so comfortably, or that he doubted whether the lord in question would be so eager to meet Eluned again. But respect must be accorded to so important a guest, and it must be done correctly. She must speak to Hugh Wisbech about rooms for the party, and preparing a fitting feast for them all.
It was infinitely more pleasant to consider these niceties than to let herself consider the wave of emotion that waited impatiently just beyond the numbness. Relief and joy, that her mother was here. Fear and shame, of what her mother might see in her. Much easier, to turn her mind to these domestic matters.
She spoke to Davydd. “Go you and find my lord, to tell him Lady Eluned is come unexpected and will soon arrive.”
His face was pained, as though he would say something that he knew would be unwelcome. She ignored this, and looked to Gwyn.
“How far behind is the Ruardean party, only as far as the village?”
It was another voice entirely that replied.
“Only as far as the inner court, daughter.”
The sight of her mother among the apple trees, the steward by her side, seemed an impossible vision. Yet it must be real. Her gown was marked with dirt from long riding, exhaustion in her posture. Despite the weariness that lined Eluned’s face and the road-dust that covered her skirt, there was nothing but a fierce love shining in her eyes when she looked at her daughter.
Gwenllian stared at her, and felt like a lost child who was suddenly found. Blinking hard, she ran to her mother, arms outstretched. She did not stop to care what the men around them might think.
Her mother’s arms wrapped around her tightly, and Gwenllian almost collapsed with relief to be so readily accepted. The joy was so great that it almost drowned out the shame that rose up in her. She bit hard on her lips to stop herself sobbing like a child. She buried her face in her mother’s shoulder, thoughts of her many failures coming unbidden.
She had not done well with King Edward. He had bested her. She was married to Morency, of all men. She had been sent to gain political advantage, but instead had been caught in the coils of the king’s power within hours. All the tables turned, since last she’d seen her mother.
Even worse, she wore a dress and not armor. Worst of all, that she could never wear armor again.
And secretly, quietly, the greatest guilt, one that she had only begun to admit to herself – that she did not truly hate any of these things.
“Leave us,” her mother was saying. “We wish to be private.”
And then they were alone.
Gwenllian lingered in her mother’s embrace, hiding her face and taking comfort for as long as she might.
“Come,” came Eluned’s soothing voice. “Come, daughter, there is no sense in wasting time with tears. We have much to do.”
For a moment, Gwenllian only heard the tremor in her mother’s voice, the emotion that lay beneath the practical words.
“To do?” she asked, raising her head at last. There, in a face softened with affection, she saw her mother was anxious. “You have traveled hard to be here so soon. There is naught to be done but to rest and be refreshed. Where is Hugh?” She looked around, surprised that the steward had truly left. “You should have wine.”
Eluned shook her head with a laugh. “Nay, I need only to speak with you here, where there are no Morency men to hear us.”
“None among them speak Welsh.”
“Good,” said Eluned firmly, taking her daughter’s hands in both of hers. “And now we must plan. We must stay here only a night, I think, and then begin the journey back to Ruardean at first light. Is there any servant you would bring away with you?”
“What profit is there in such haste?” Gwenllian asked in dismay. “Is certain the men are weary of travel and need respite. So too do you need rest, as well do I need your counsel. Will you leave so soon and deny me this?”
Eluned squeezed her hands, smiling fondly at her.
“Nor do I mean for us to be parted again, for fear of the mischief that can be done when I am not here to guide you.”
Gwenllian could only stare in confusion as she slowly understood.
“You mean me to return to Ruardean.”
“Aye, surely. Is well enough you have claim to Morency in some way, even if it is not as we had wished. But you’ll not remain and play wife to Edward’s favored pet.” Eluned slipped her arm through Gwenllian’s and began to walk deeper into the orchard, lowering her voice. “In truth, we only wait at Ruardean for word from Gwynedd.”
Gwenllian forced herself to continue walking as her mind reeled. Gwynedd was where the Welsh prince Llewellyn lived, the only corner of land left in his power after Edward had crushed any hopes of Welsh independence three years ago.
“What word do you await from Llewellyn, mother?”
Eluned’s hand slipped down to intertwine her fingers with Gwenllian’s.
“It will be soon. The lesser Welsh princes,” the word was loaded with contempt, “grow discontent with their lot as Edward’s vassals. Many stand ready to fight at last, and the common people even more so. It needs only shrewd planning, done while the snow falls. By the spring, Llewellyn will
be assured we can strike with a purpose.”
Gwenllian stopped walking, pulling her hand from her mother’s grasp. Eluned’s face was all seriousness, her brow lightly furrowed as she spoke of planning a rebellion against the English crown.
Through the shock, Gwenllian tried to make sense of her mother’s words.
“Llewellyn will be assured,” she repeated. “He’ll be assured, by spring?”
The familiar pinch came to Eluned’s lips.
“He is reluctant. He thinks we cannot win against Edward, but you will convince him–”
“Convince him!” Gwenllian burst out. “I am to convince him!”
“Hark well, Gwenllian.” Conviction burned in her mother’s eyes, and her voice had steel in it. “There are men enough for an army, and none of the Welsh lords who are so willing have a fraction of your strength, or skill. They need a leader, and if Llewellyn will not act then Gwenllian shall serve. It is as I have said it would be.”
Gwenllian turned away. She stared at the tree before her, the fruit hung in hard clusters amid the glossy green. It did not seem real.
War. Insurrection and treason. And she was to lead it, against Edward, because Eluned dared to dream it. Her happiness at seeing her mother was swallowed whole by the disbelief that now gripped her.
“The meanest shepherd will clamor to follow you, I swear it. Do you doubt it?” Eluned asked.
She did not answer, nor turn to her mother’s voice. An unexpected anger began to swell in Gwenllian’s chest. She drew a deep breath, looking through the leaves to see Madog standing with Gwyn, near enough that they might hear raised voices.
“Mother,” she began, striving for calm.
Sensing her resistance, Eluned cut off Gwenllian’s words with her own, filled with vehemence.
“I have told you, Welshmen have fought for the memory of Gwenllian for a hundred years. How much more will they fight for a living Gwenllian of flesh and blood, who wields a sword as well as any man?”
“These are fanciful tales, invented in my girlhood for amusement, not for war.”
“No,” Eluned said flatly. “It was always for this. It has all been for this. And now the time has come. You know how the Welsh suffer under Edward’s heel, his cruelties and their discontent. They but wait for the chance to take action. It wants only the spark.”
Eluned walked forward, coming around to face Gwenllian, who still did not move.
“You are the spark.”
Gwenllian gave a sharp shake of her head. “No.”
“Yes. Now is the time.”
“It is not,” she insisted, her resolve hardening. “There cannot be such a time.”
Her mother gave a familiar huff of annoyance, and Gwenllian felt an equally familiar anger in response.
“I tell you that it is now! Think you that you understand these matters better than I?” Eluned challenged.
“I understand that it is madness to go against Edward.”
“It is madness only if you do not have wit to match his. Well enough can I see how this may be done, and well enough can you carry out the plan.”
Gwenllian knew from long practice that it was pointless to contradict her mother, who was stubborn sure and determined to win not just the argument, but the war she envisioned.
“Did you not meet the king at Windsor, mother?”
She shrugged. “A brief audience.”
“Could you not see the man he is?”
Eluned scoffed at this. “He is but a man.”
Though she wanted nothing more than to shake her mother until she saw reason, Gwenllian forced herself to breathe deeply, balling her hands into fists. She spoke carefully, emphatically.
“He is no fool, I tell you, but a man who is ever watchful for betrayal and expects it in every corner, especially from Ruardean. This is why he wed me to Morency, surely you see that.”
“Full well do I see it, why think you I am here if not to bring you away?”
Gwenllian lowered her voice to a hiss.
“I cannot leave here to plot against the English king with you. The first hint of rebellion with the stink of Ruardean on it shall mark me as traitor.”
“You know well enough how to evade the king in Wales.”
Gwenllian threw up her hands. “Am I to hide in the hills forever, while the king claims my husband’s head? I will not condemn him.”
Her words hung between them. Eluned said nothing, only stared at her daughter, a dawning comprehension in her face.
“Do you care so much for his head?” she asked, incredulous.
Gwenllian tried. She tried very hard to say that she did not care. Even more did she try to hide her sudden self-consciousness. She turned her face down, willed the heat in her cheeks to abate, and took another tack.
“What of William, mother? Do you forget my brother in these schemes? What future will there be for him, with a mad father and a treasonous mother?”
“William is a child and his future is Ruardean.” At Gwenllian’s look of disbelief, Eluned waved a dismissive hand. “Is possible to navigate the politics in ways that leave him at an advantage. Let it be my concern and not yours.”
“How can it not be my concern?” Gwenllian did not care now that her voice was raised. “You wish to risk his life and his fortune, and mine. You risk all of Ruardean, and Morency too!”
“Yes! I risk it! We will not sit idly by when there is a chance to fight, and win.”
“There is no such chance!” They were fairly shouting now. “Even if there were, I would not risk it!”
Her mother did not answer. They only stood looking at each other in furious silence until her mother spoke in a voice of deadly calm.
“Think well on this, daughter. Only with your strength can we be victorious. But we must fight, with or without you.”
At this, Gwenllian’s fury hardened into ice. She tried to remember the love and relief she had felt only moments before, upon seeing her mother. But she could not.
“If you fight, is certain my husband will hang as traitor, and I by his side.”
Eluned spoke with a finality. “You fight by my side and triumph, or die as traitor by his. Is your choice, and none other’s. Now you will say which it is, Gwenllian.”
Gwenllian could only stare at her mother’s face until her features were a blur. It was true. She must choose. Her mother or her husband. That life, or this one.
She recalled a long ago lesson in combat, when her master at arms said, Never spend good steel on unworthy combat, for your honor is the least of what you will lose. She thought of King Edward, watching her closely as she said her wedding vows, his look that missed nothing. And she thought of the first time Ranulf had said her name, urgency in his voice as he asked her if the king had aught to fear of Eluned.
She must choose, and only one path was lit with reason.
But to look at her mother was to feel the pull of a love and loyalty so deep that she could scarcely breathe.
“I will have no part in it,” she forced herself to say. “I will not. Do not ask it again.”
In that moment it was clear that her mother had never believed Gwenllian would turn away from this duty. The look on her mother’s face was unbearable. Shock and hurt, and worst of all – betrayal. Gwenllian thought she might shatter with the force of it, into countless brittle pieces scattered across the orchard.
“You consign us all to our graves.” Eluned’s voice was a whisper, a hoarse scrape that sounded nothing like the woman she had always been. “Without you, what hope have we of winning?”
Gwenllian wanted to turn away, seeing the tears that gathered in her mother’s eyes. She could not. She only stood paralyzed, waiting for the awful moment to end. Waiting to watch her mother weep.
“Never,” said Eluned, searching her daughter’s face in despair, “never did I think you would turn away from a fight.”
All of the sound reasoning, all the logic and common sense of Gwenllian’s decision were nothing t
o this. A coward, and weak. That was what her mother saw. It was what her men would see. It was what she herself saw, when she looked through their eyes.
“My lady Eluned, may I call you mother now?”
Ranulf leaned against a tree, arrogant smile playing on his face. So heated had been their discussion that neither had noticed his arrival. Gwenllian felt a moment’s panic, wondering what he might have heard until she realized that they had spoken in Welsh, and he could not understand.
He gave a little bow to Eluned, whose face hardened against this gentle mockery.
In the rigid silence, he strolled easily to Gwenllian and took her hand. He still looked at Eluned when he spoke. “I did not think we expected guests so soon, my sweeting.”
Her mother’s gaze fixed on their joined hands, and Gwenllian snatched hers away.
“Mother,” she began.
“For this,” interrupted her mother, speaking in Welsh, “for this, you say me no?”
Gwenllian denied it. “I say you no because to say yes is the ruin of us all.”
“It is your refusal that is the death and ruin of us all.”
She shook her head, a hopeless gesture. “I beg you will not do this thing.”
Her mother said nothing, only gave a disgusted look before turning and walking swiftly out of the trees.
Gwenllian followed. As they passed the place where Madog and Davydd stood waiting, Eluned spoke to them without pausing in her brisk pace. “With me, kinsmen. We leave this place at once.”
The inner court was full of familiar faces. Hugh Wisbech had brought ale to the men – her men, who looked at her dress in amused amazement. She could feel the restraint from them, that they were careful not to greet her as they would if she wore armor.
“There is daylight enough to take us to the priory of Saint Andrew,” Eluned was saying, still in Welsh, to no one in particular. “Bring me my horse.”
The King's Man Page 18
