Isle of Glass

by Tarr, Judith

  “Kilhwch and Richard will squabble and drink and squabble some more. Gwydion will keep them from each other’s throats.”

  “And then?”

  “With luck they’ll come to an agreement.”

  Jehan tucked the cask under his arm and followed Alf among the cobwebbed shelves past the tuns of ale. As he mounted the steps to the pantry he said, “They ought to bring Rhydderch here and make him answer for all he’s done.”

  “That’s not an ill thought.”

  Jehan almost dropped his burden. “Thea, for the love of God! Can't you ever come on gradually?”

  She laughed and stepped back. Alf closed and locked the door, not looking at her, but Jehan could not tear his eyes away. She stood resplendent in the garb of a high lady, a gown of amber silk embroidered with gold and belted with gold and amber; a golden fillet bound her brows. Rather incongruously, she carried a wheel of cheese wrapped in fine cloth.

  “Where did you get the gown?” Jehan asked her.

  “From the air,” she answered. “Where else?” She set the cheese in Alf’s unwilling hands and pirouetted in the narrow space of the pantry. “Do you like it?”

  “You look beautiful,” Jehan said sincerely.

  Her eyes danced from him to Alf, who had said nothing at all. “You don’t agree, little Brother?”

  He met her gaze. “Lady, you are beautiful, and you know it.”

  “And you.” Her mockery was brave but shaky. “You make an extraordinarily handsome young squire.”

  “And an extraordinarily dilatory one. Many thanks for fetching the cheese; will you let me by to take it to Their Majesties?”

  “Better yet, I'll go with you.”

  He opened his mouth to protest, closed it again. “Come, then.”

  o0o

  The kings were deep in converse with the Abbot and the Bishop, but Thea’s arrival silenced them abruptly. Kilhwch grinned a sudden, startling grin. “Thea Damaskena! What are you doing here?”

  “Waiting on my liege lord,” she replied with a flash of her eyes, “since he won’t let me give his game away to his noble brother.”

  “And performing an occasional miracle on the side,” Richard put in, rising. “Demoiselle, you have my deepest gratitude for saving the life of a certain worthless cleric.”

  She sank down in a deep curtsey, but her eyes were bright and bold. “You are welcome, Majesty.”

  Alf had set the cheese on the sideboard and begun with great diligence to cut it. Richard looked from him to Thea, and smiled with a slight edge. “May I ask you something, Lady?”

  She inclined her head.

  “Why did you do it?”

  “Why not?”

  Richard laughed. “I can see you’re a match for him.”

  “She’s a match for any male alive,” said Kilhwch.

  “What woman isn’t?” She settled between Gwydion and the young King. “Well, sirs. How goes the battle?”

  Kilhwch sat back with folded arms, glowering at the table. “Nowhere,” he muttered, “and to no purpose. I won’t have Anglia’s army on my lands, even to round up Rhydderch`s troops.”

  “And I can’t control him if I can’t get at him,” snapped Richard. “If he’s not in his castle, I’ll damned well have to go after him.”

  “Take his castle and hold his people hostage.”

  “That won't be enough. He'll raise the whole Marches around me.”

  “Then take the whole Marches! Or aren’t you king enough for that?”

  Richard rose, hand to dagger hilt.

  Thea laughed like a clash of blades. “Don’t be such witlings! There’s a better way than that.”

  “And what may it be?” Gwydion asked.

  “It’s not my idea,” she said. “Come here, Jehan. Tell them.”

  The novice started and nearly poured wine into Aylmer’s lap. Deftly the Bishop relieved him of flask and cup and said, “Speak up, boy. What would you do if you were a king?”

  He swallowed. For the merest instant, he hated Thea cordially. But they were all staring, even Brother Alf; and something in Thea’s eyes made him forget fear.

  “It’s just a simple thing,” he said. “You talk about armies and invading each other’s lands and stopping uprisings. Why can’t you send for Rhydderch and make him come here? He’ll have to obey a royal command, especially if it comes from three kings at once.”

  Gwydion nodded, for all the world like Brother Alf when he had just asked a question and got the answer he wanted. “A point well taken. How could you be certain that he wouldn’t destroy your messenger and claim afterward that none had come?”

  “I’d be very careful to send someone with rank enough that his loss would be noticed. And I’d give him a strong escort—half from Anglia, maybe, and half from Gwynedd. With a binding on him that if he weren’t heard from within a certain length of time, then both kings would fall on Rhydderch with all the power they could muster.”

  There was a silence. Jehan’s palms were damp; he wiped them surreptitiously on his hose. Both Richard and Kilhwch were frowning. Gwydion, who seldom wore any expression at all, was staring into his cup.

  It was he who spoke. “Well, my lords? Would it please you to bring Rhydderch face to face with his crimes?”

  “The one against you most of all,” Kilhwch said fiercely. “Yes, by God. Yes!”

  Richard arranged crumbs in careful order on his trencher, line by line. “One would almost think,” he said idly, “that my lord of Rhiyana had had this in mind all the while.”

  “And if he had,” asked Thea, “would it matter?”

  He added another line to his army, and over it a banner of rosemary. “I suppose not. Who would go if we agreed to do this? One of us?”

  Thea rested a light hand on Gwydion’s bandaged one. “That would be tempting fate. It has to be someone whose life isn’t vital to the survival of the kingdom. And,” she added, for Alf had started forward, “who isn’t one of our people. Rhydderch has learned to hate us; we want him to come as quietly as possible, not bound and raging. But since he’s madder than a wild boar, his keeper had better be strong enough, and clever enough, to handle him.”

  Richard nodded slowly. “If I agree, will you give me the right to choose the messenger?”

  “Whom would you choose?” Kilhwch asked sharply.

  “The best man I know of: well-born, strong as a bull, and clever as a fox.”

  They were all staring at Jehan again. He stared back and tried not to shake.

  Kilhwch’s black brows met. “He looks more than strong enough; he seems clever. But he’s only a boy.”

  Thea laughed. Kilhwch’s scowl grew terrible.

  “My ancient lord,” she said, “even children have their uses. You were one once. Remember?”

  He flushed darkly. “I wouldn’t have entrusted myself to Rhydderch’s tender mercies.”

  “Wouldn’t you? Who was it who went after a boar with his bare hands? Give in, Kilhwch. Just because you can’t go doesn’t mean you have to hold him back.”

  “If he wishes to go,” Gwydion said.

  Jehan drew a shuddering breath. “Of course I want to. Though I don't deserve the honor.”

  “Why not?” asked Richard. “You’re a Sevigny; you’re trained in arms and a scholar besides; and no one who looks at you could possibly think you have a brain in your head. If anyone can lure Rhydderch out of his lair, you can.”

  He bowed low, unable to speak.

  Richard struck the table with the flat of his hand. “Well. That’s settled. Alfred, wine for everybody, and double for our ambassador.”

  As Alf filled Jehan’s cup, he met the wide blue stare. His own held fear for the other’s safety, but pride also, and deep affection.

  The novice smiled crookedly and toasted him with a remarkably steady hand, and drank deep.

  28

  Night was falling with winter’s swiftness, but what light clung still to the low sky cast into sharp relief the cas
tle on its rock.

  Jehan muscled his red stallion to a halt; behind him his escort paused. A thin bitter wind tugged at their banners: Gwynedd’s scarlet dragon, Anglia’s golden leopards.

  He stared up at Rhydderch’s fortress, his face within the mail-coif grim and set. He liked the sight of the castle as little as Gwydion had. Less.

  But Gwydion had not ridden up to it with a dozen knights behind him and two kings’ banners over him. Jehan turned in his saddle, scanning the faces of his company. Strong faces, a little disgruntled perhaps to be under the command of a half-grown boy, but warming to his gaze. He grinned suddenly. “Well, sirs. Shall we see if the boar’s in his den?”

  The drawbridge was up, a chasm between it and the track. Jehan rode to the very edge of the pit, so close that the stallion’s restless hooves sent stones rolling and tumbling into space. No light shone above the gate, nor could he discern any figure upon the battlements.

  He filled his lungs. “Hoi, there!” he bellowed.

  No response.

  Again he mustered all of his strength and loosed it in a shout. “Open up for the King’s messenger!”

  After an intolerably long pause, a torch flickered aloft. A voice called out: “Which King?”

  “Anglia,” he shouted back, “and Gwynedd.”

  Rhydderch’s man raised his torch a little higher. Jehan could see a sharp cheekbone, an unshaven jowl. “Take your lies somewhere else and let us be.”

  One of the knights urged his mount to Jehan’s side. Light flared, illumining a thin nondescript face, a straggle of brown beard. But the eyes were Thea’s.

  She raised her brand high, casting its light on the banners that strained in a sudden blast. Dragon and leopards seemed to leap from their fields toward the guard on the battlements.

  “Open up,” Jehan commanded, “and take me to your lord.”

  “He isn't here,” the man said harshly.

  Jehan’s mount snorted and half-reared. “Then by Saint George and Saint Dafydd, let me in to wait for him!”

  The torch wavered. After a moment it dropped from sight. With a groaning of chains, the drawbridge lowered; the iron portcullis rose.

  Light glimmered within. Jehan sent the red stallion thundering to meet it.

  o0o

  Jehan sat on the high seat in Rhydderch’s hall, his mail laid aside for a princely robe, Kilhwch’s gift as the stallion had been Richard’s.

  Gwydion’s gift contemplated the array of dishes that the cook had hastened to prepare for them, and nibbled fastidiously on a bit of bread. "Barbarians,” she said in her own voice, although her face remained that of the young knight from Gwynedd.

  He nodded, holding his breath as a squire leaned close to refill his cup. The youth had not encountered soap or water in longer than he cared to think.

  He looked about, surveying Rhydderch’s domain. Caer Sidi was a fortress above all; on the bare stone walls of its hall hung neither tapestries nor bright banners but ancient shields blackened with smoke. The men beneath them, the servants who moved among the tables, had a dark wild look, ever wary, like hunted beasts.

  “I’ve seen such faces elsewhere,” Thea said in Jehan’s ear. “In Sicily in the cave of a bandit chieftain. In Alamut among the Hashishayun.”

  He shivered and set down his new-filled cup.

  She laughed softly. “All men who follow madmen have the same look. But this is only a petty madman and a fruitless madness. You’re easily a match for both.”

  “I’m not so sure,” he muttered under his breath.

  o0o

  As the hour grew late, Rhydderch’s men waxed boisterous with wine. But Jehan’s knights clustered together near the high table, drinking little and eating less, casting longing glances toward the weapons heaped just outside the door. The air around them was heavy with hostility, the servants’ conduct hovering on the edge of insolence.

  The knights endured it grimly, for they had been chosen with utmost care. But they had their pride. The youngest of them bore with fortitude the wine poured down his rich tunic, but when the offender grinned at him, he struck the man down.

  The servant leaped up with a long knife gleaming in his hand. Jehan sprang to his feet. What he felt, he realized later, was not fear but cold fury.

  His voice cracked through the hall. “Put down that knife!”

  Silence fell abruptly. Among Rhydderch’s men, eyes rolled white. Half a dozen blades clattered to table or bench or floor, the servant’s among them.

  Jehan caught the knight’s blazing eye and willed him to return to his seat. Slowly he obeyed.

  Jehan sat himself, trying not to shake. With reaction, or with laughter that was half hysteria. He pushed his cup aside and gathered himself to rise again, to put an end to this mockery of a feast.

  And froze. Men had come and gone often, as always during a banquet, but those who strode in came armed and helmeted, their cloaks dabbled with mud.

  A short broad man walked at their head, clad in mail with no surcoat. But once one had seen his eyes, one forgot all else: strange, almost as light as Brother Alf’s, but red-rimmed and glaring like a wild boar’s.

  He halted in front of the high table, his men fanning out behind him. Eight, Jehan counted, no more than an escort. But there were five times that in the hall, watching him as the hound watches the huntsman, with hate and fear and blind adoration.

  Jehan leaned back, running a cold eye over him. “Is it the custom to walk armed into hall?”

  “In my hall," Rhydderch answered, “I make my own customs. Who are you, and what are you doing, lording it in my castle?”

  “Your castle?” Jehan’s eyes were wide, surprised. “Are you the Lord Rhydderch then?” He rose and bowed as equal to equal. “Jehan de Sevigny, body-squire to the Lord Chancellor of Anglia and ambassador from the Kings of Anglia and of Gwynedd, at your service, sir.”

  Rhydderch’s nostrils flared; his knuckles whitened on his sword hilt. “Anglia?” he demanded. “Gwynedd? Anglia and Gwynedd?”

  “You heard me rightly,” Jehan said. “Come, my lord. Share the feast. Your cook’s outdone himself tonight by all accounts.”

  The baron did not move. “Gwynedd and Anglia together?” He seemed stunned. “What do they want with me? I’m but a poor Marcher lord.”

  “Let’s say,” said Jehan, “that you’re not as insignificant as you’d like Their Majesties to think you are.”

  “But not so significant that I’m worth a made knight.”

  “Well,” Jehan said. “There are twelve of them with me, and I’m bigger than any. And the alternative was war.” Rhydderch’s eyes gleamed; he smiled. “The two kings against you and your men. But they’ve been feeling compassionate lately. It must have hit you hard when Sir Alun escaped.”

  It was a long while before Rhydderch could master his voice.

  “Sir AIun?”

  “Of Rhiyana. A remarkable man, that.”

  “A spy,” grated Rhydderch.

  “An ambassador,” Jehan countered. “Like me, but not quite so well attended. Nor so well treated. Through sheer stubbornness he found his way to an abbey. The Abbot sent word to the King, and the King met with Kilhwch of Gwynedd.”

  “Peaceably?”

  “Perfectly so. They’re two of a kind, after all.”

  Rhydderch did not sneer. Not quite. “And why have they honored me with your august presence?”

  “Out of longing for your own. You’re bidden to attend them on Ynys Witrin as soon as you can ride there.”

  “I?” Rhydderch asked. “What can I do for Their Majesties?”

  “You can go to them and ask.”

  “And if I don’t?”

  “If you don’t,” Jehan said, “they come and get you.”

  “Am I to be punished for arresting and dealing with a spy?”

  “I don’t know about punishment, but my lords would like to talk to you,” answered Jehan. “You have a day or two to think about it.”

&nbs
p; “And then?”

  Jehan’s smile was affable. “If I’m not back in St. Ruan’s by the third day from now, in your company, both kings will come to find us. On the other hand, if you ride with me, Richard might be disposed to be friendly. Even if he can’t exactly condone his vassal’s warmongering in his absence and without his consent, he can understand it.”

  Slowly Rhydderch shrank in upon himself. He had planned for every contingency but this one, that the kings would ally against him; his swift mind raced, seeking wildly for an opening.

  He bowed his head as under a yoke, fierce, hating, yet apparently conquered. “I’ll do as my King commands. We ride out tomorrow at dawn.”

  Jehan nodded. “Excellent. You may take one man. Be sure he has a good horse.”

  As Rhydderch turned away, Thea left her seat beside Jehan and followed him. She paused only once, to retrieve her sword from its resting place near the door and to meet Jehan’s eye. Her own was bright and fierce. With the slightest of bows, she strode after the baron, silent as his shadow and no less tenacious.

  Jehan released his breath slowly and beckoned to the hall steward. “More wine,” he commanded.

  Somewhat to his surprise, the man obeyed him. He returned to Rhydderch’s seat and sat there, lordly, unconcerned, and shaking deep within where no one could see.

  29

  Half a mile from St. Ruan’s, where three days ago Richard’s knights had begun their race for the gold bezant, a figure stood alone. From a distance he seemed a lifeless thing, a stone or a tree-trunk set upon the road, dusted with the snow that had begun to fall a little after noon. Now and then a gust of wind would snatch at his dark cloak, baring a glimpse of brightness, scarlet and blue and gold, or plucking the hood away from a white still face that turned toward the north and west.

  The snow thickened. He paid no heed to it, nor tried after the first time or two to cover his head, although the flakes clung to his hair and lashes, half-blinding him.

  He heard them long before he saw them: the pounding of hooves, the jingle of metal, the harsh breathing of horses driven fast and hard over rough country. Through a gap in the swirling snow burst a company of knights.