Rhiannon

by Roberta Gellis

  Simon had disappeared, and Mallt’s eyes returned to Madog. “How should I know?” she retorted. “I am no witch.”

  “Who would know?” Madog persisted.

  “A priest—I suppose,” Mallt answered, but her expression was interested, calculating, now that the distraction of Simon’s presence was gone. “I do not think it would be wise to ask too many questions of a priest here in Aber,” she said. “It would come to Prince Llewelyn’s ears—and that would not be good for you.”

  “I—” His voice strangled in his throat as Rhiannon appeared in the doorway of the main hall.

  Madog was frozen, not knowing whether to run, but before he could move Rhiannon nodded pleasantly, wished him and Mallt a good day, and passed by them into the women’s hall. Math, a little way behind her, paused and hissed before he, too, entered the doorway and disappeared from sight. Madog choked. Was it possible that Rhiannon did not know it had been he in the wood by the cove? Did that mean she was not a very powerful witch? If she did not know who had been there, would the curse take effect?

  Mallt had returned Rhiannon’s greeting coldly if civilly. Madog could not, but it was quite apparent that she had not noticed. Her face had a closed, withdrawn look that implied her mind was elsewhere than on casual civilities. That caused a reversal of Madog’s initial sense of relief. Did she know after all and merely make a pretense of civility because Mallt was there? The familiar certainly had displayed animosity. But did that mean anything? The cat had hissed and spat at him even while Rhiannon was inviting his attentions when she had first arrived at court.

  “What is wrong with you?” Mallt asked.

  Madog realized that he had stopped midsentence. He felt a need to explain himself, but could not admit he was afraid of Rhiannon. “I—I only learned today what she is,” he confessed. “It is horrible to think that I once considered her for a wife.”

  “Oh, she has bewitched half the men in the court,” Mallt said bitterly.

  Then she drew her breath in sharply. What a fool she had been! She had not thought of it before, but doubtless that was what had happened to Simon. He was bewitched. That was why he would not even look or smile at her any longer. It must be true, Mallt thought, remembering that Math had not spat at Simon yesterday but followed him about, weaving between his footsteps, and even sitting in his lap. This cast a new light on Mallt’s jealousy, and she needed a little time and privacy to think it over.

  “I think you must be right,” Madog replied, but there was a marked lack of interest in his voice.

  Madog knew there was no need of witchcraft to attract men to Rhiannon. Even if they thought her a little strange and too willful, the advantages of a blood bond with the ruling house of Gwynedd—for her half brothers David and Gruffydd were both fond of her—plus a handsome dower were quite enough to draw suitors. But even that subject, which had been so enthralling to him before the encounter at the cove, could not hold his interest. He felt Rhiannon staring at him from somewhere inside the women’s hall. The fact that he knew it would be impossible for Rhiannon to see him and Mallt from almost any angle could not relieve his anxiety.

  Since both Mallt and Madog urgently desired to be away from that spot—she to think and he to take refuge—they soon drifted apart. However, a sense of sympathy had been generated between them, and each thought that the other might well be useful. Madog could not bear to be alone, and he headed for the great hall where he could be likely to find company and would also be able to conceal himself from Rhiannon. At first it did not help much; Madog felt dreadfully sick, hollow, and shaky, but as the hours passed, his symptoms abated—no one can remain at a peak of terror for very long.

  With the remission of fear Madog’s confidence rose a little, but neither remission nor budding hope outlasted Madog’s next sight of Rhiannon, which was at dinner. She came in a little late, after they had started eating; however, a place had been saved for her and she was seated beside her father, as she often was when there were no important guests. Llewelyn very much enjoyed his daughter’s conversation. As she took her seat, Rhiannon’s eyes flicked over the seated gentlemen at the lower tables. She was looking for Simon, but because Madog was staring at her, her eyes caught his and she nodded a courteous greeting. Madog felt a cold shiver pass over him and found that he could scarcely chew and swallow his food. In a few minutes, he had to leave the hall. He barely made it out to the latrine area before he vomited everything he had eaten, and he felt so weak that he was convinced for a few minutes that he would die right there.

  Now he knew, for certain, that he had been cursed and that the curse had taken hold. His first notion was to flee the court, but his strength started to return. Perhaps the curse only worked in Rhiannon’s presence. However, he did not feel well enough to ride away just then. Through the rest of the afternoon he had no serious attack, but to his horror, he still felt the curse working in him. His mouth was dry and his heart frequently pounded hard. Periodically, too, he broke out into a cold sweat.

  During the remainder of the day his terror and his symptoms—a direct result of that terror, had he only stopped to think about the sensations of fear—continued. Half believing that death was imminent, Madog found a priest and confessed his sins. Then, ,although he was still afraid that he would die instantly if he named Rhiannon, he told the priest there was a witch in the village near his father’s estate and asked, in general, what could be done to save a man from a cursing.

  Various remedies were suggested, but Madog quickly realized that the answer was to get rid of the curse—or the witch. He did not long consider appealing to Rhiannon to convince her he had meant no harm so that she would withdraw the curse. Spiteful bitch that she was, she might take against him in the future for some imagined slight. It would be better, far better and more permanent, if he eliminated the witch. But how? Having cursed him, surely she would not trust herself alone to him. Even if she would, he did not dare be seen with her shortly before she disappeared. To wake Llewelyn’s enmity would be as bad as being cursed.

  Then he remembered the venom in Mallt’s voice, and he considered the consequences of enlisting her help. He found Mallt without difficulty and made his proposal—not mentioning what he intended after she brought Rhiannon to a private meeting with him. Mallt opened her mouth to refuse, but she knew Madog had been sincere when he said he hated Rhiannon, and, from his looks now, he feared her, too. Suddenly, Mallt realized Madog meant murder!

  A very brief sense of shock passed into heartfelt enthusiasm. Yes, she would help, Mallt agreed. She looked at Madog speculatively. He was no Simon, but he would do for a husband. Once Rhiannon was dead, Madog would have to marry her to keep her mouth shut. Or, if he would not agree to marriage, likely Llewelyn would be glad to dower richly the woman who told him who had killed his daughter.

  Chapter Eight

  Simon did not speak to Rhiannon again that day. He was kept busy, first by Llewelyn and then by David, Llewelyn’s legitimate son. David liked Simon. Being half-English himself—his mother had been King John’s natural daughter—David could not afford Gruffydd’s prejudices. He was several years younger than his half brother and was both pleased and excited by the possibility of a war. He was eager to discuss politics and strategies, and Simon was very willing, although he would rather have discussed other matters with David’s half sister.

  All in all Simon was not ill-pleased with his progress with Rhiannon. When she came in to dinner, her eyes sought him out, and she smiled at him. And, although she talked to her father and half brothers as freely as usual, Simon noticed that her glances flicked toward him more than once. He did not think, however, that it would be politic to pursue her after dinner. Let her think, as she had said she must.

  Thus when David came to him and suggested riding out to hunt with a group of young men, Simon agreed without hesitation. They all enjoyed themselves, bringing down a handsome buck after a long chase. By the time the dogs were rewarded and the buck prepared, it was ne
ar dark, and they arrived too late for the evening meal. Rhiannon was not in the hall, but Simon was not really disappointed. He was quite happy to discuss the future raiding of King Henry’s supply trains, even though it was highly unlikely that he would be free to participate in that profitable amusement. Several more men joined them, and altogether they had a most convivial evening, staggering off to bed very late, singing or giggling or cursing as drunkenness took them.

  Several hours earlier, just before the women had gone to bed, Mallt approached Rhiannon and drew her aside. She whispered to Rhiannon her need for certain herbs which grew in the forest and needed to be plucked just as the sun rose for greatest efficacy. She did not know where they grew, Mallt said, but doubtless Rhiannon did. Rhiannon was tempted to laugh at her, but she restrained the impulse. She used herbs for healing, but she did not believe in their effectiveness to generate love. That, Kicva had taught her, came only from within the person. If it should be constrained by potions or magical practices, it was only a compulsion akin to hate, and was not love at all.

  Still, Rhiannon knew Mallt was both jealous and a little fearful of her. If she laughed or refused, Mallt would never believe that it was because the herbs would be ineffective. She would only be convinced that Rhiannon was selfishly keeping her knowledge to herself. Rhiannon agreed, after only the smallest hesitation, to take Mallt into the forest to gather what she needed. And, not many hours after Simon had reeled into his bed, Rhiannon and Mallt rose from theirs to dress in the dim light of the night candles, wrap themselves in warm cloaks, and make their way out of the keep. Just before they reached the postern, Mallt exclaimed that the lacings on her shoe had broken. She urged Rhiannon to go ahead and she would catch up. Rhiannon offered to wait, but Mallt said it was silly to stand still in the chill morning. She would have no trouble catching up if Rhiannon went slowly.

  This seemed a little odd to Rhiannon, but the predawn air was sharp and much of the behavior of the women of the court seemed odd to her—as hers did to them—so she simply did what Mallt suggested without thinking any more about it. The guards at the postern let her out without comment. The sun had not risen, but the sky was light with coming dawn. There was nothing uncommon in women going out to gather berries or herbs in the dawn and, anyway, Lady Rhiannon did as she pleased.

  Mallt walked a few steps slowly, sliding the foot with the loosened laces so that the shoe would not come off. As soon as she was hidden from Rhiannon’s sight, she bent and tied the unbroken lace securely. Then she ran swiftly to the western gate and told the guard that she wanted to gather fresh seaweed at the shore. There was nothing strange in this either. When she was out, she angled north toward the shore until the curve of the stockade hid her.

  Then she ran as fast as she could around to the east.

  Mallt soon caught up to Rhiannon, who was walking slowly, watching the patterns the light and trees made, and was so enraptured by their beauty that she had almost forgotten why she was out in the dawn. When Mallt spoke her name, she started and sighed at the interruption, but she went forward cheerfully to fulfill her promise.

  In Rhiannon’s bed, Math curled tighter together. He was thickly furred and cuddled into the blankets so that he could not have been cold. Nonetheless, he was discontent. Now he missed the warmth of her body, the vibration of her breathing—something. Grumbling deep in his throat, Math leapt from the bed and stalked toward the door. Here he let out one raucous howl and then another. In the next moment an irritated woman hurried to open the door. She cursed, but she did not kick; Math retaliated sharply with claws and teeth against those who were not properly respectful.

  Yowling outside the hall door did not produce the same effect, but it was dawn and men were coming out to piss and, for those who did it, to wash. It was not long before the door opened and Math slipped inside. He picked his way with delicate care among those who were still sleeping, weaving a path, sniffing inquisitively at hands that hung over or rising on his hind legs to examine a shoulder, neck, or face. Eventually he found what he wanted—Simon’s long-fingered hand, the part of Simon he knew best. With a deep-throated rumble of satisfaction, Math leapt up and settled himself comfortably on Simon’s broad chest. In a little while, his eyes half closed, and he began to purr.

  Convivial evenings are a pleasure that must be paid for with bleak mornings. In his half-sleep, the heavy weight that had settled on Simon’s chest seemed connected with his general misery. It was not until after Math’s roaring purr began that Simon realized what had happened. Math’s purring rasped into Simon’s aching head like a file across his brain. He mumbled a protest and extended a hand to push Math off. Math dug his claws firmly into the blanket and clung. In several places the claws, long, strong, and sharp, pierced through the blanket into Simon’s skin. All the while purring to show that he was disciplining a servant and not really angry, Math bit Simon’s hand. The combined sharp pains overrode Simon’s other miseries and brought him fully awake.

  He did not dare lift his head for fear it would explode like a barrel of burning pitch, but he did get his eyes open and moaned, “Math, get off. Shut up!”

  The results were not in the least what Simon desired. Math did rise to a standing position, but he did not stop purring, and rather than jump down, he walked with slow dignity farther up Simon’s body so that he could peer down into his victim’s face. Moreover, since Simon was neither perfectly firm nor perfectly flat, for security Math inserted his claws well into the surface he was walking on with each step.

  Simon howled—but he did not make the mistake of trying to push Math off. His agonized gaze met Math’s enigmatic green eyes. The cat stared. Simon shut his eyes again, moaning softly at the burst of agony the light caused in his brain. His stomach heaved. Math sat down heavily right over the uproar in Simon’s midsection and began to knead Simon’s chest with his claws. Surprisingly, instead of adding to Simon’s misery, these actions were helpful. The sudden weight on Simon’s churning stomach quieted it, and the rhythmic pricking in his chest steadied the whirling in his head. He reopened his eyes.

  “What the devil are you doing here?” he asked the cat. Naturally the question answered itself. Rhiannon must have gone out. Simon knew she took no part in the early morning household chores, and he realized the sun had not quite risen, although it would at any moment. Simon was not troubled by Rhiannon’s leaving Aber so early. She took great pleasure in seeing the sun rise out in the open. Actually, it was not Rhiannon but Math who occupied his thoughts.

  “You cannot sit or lie on top of me,” he said severely. “You are too heavy. You know Lady Rhiannon does not permit that. Now get off.” Very gently he exerted pressure on one side of Math. “I will make room for you,” he promised, turning sideways as he spoke.

  Simon was never sure whether Math really understood what was said to him or reacted to some combination of tone, expression, and movement. In any case, his behavior this time was typical of Simon’s previous experience with addressing him directly. The cat stopped purring and moved with slow dignity to the hollow Simon was creating by lying on his side and bending his knees. Simon sighed with relief and shut his eyes. At the moment he cared not a whit why Math did what he desired. All he knew was that peace was restored. Gratefully, he sank back to sleep.

  At the edge of the wood, Mallt suddenly began to tell Rhiannon the sad tale of her life. She was a fourth daughter in a purse-pinched household, and there was no money to dower her. She might have been forced into a religious life, but fortunately the position in Llewelyn’s household had opened and she had been chosen. But it was not fair, she complained to Rhiannon. Her blood was every bit as good as that of the others, but she was looked down upon because she had no fine clothing and no dower. Was it not reasonable, she said, that she should seek any method to win a husband and a settled, honorable place in life?

  Because Rhiannon was very sure the herb preparation Mallt would make would have no effect on any man, she muttered some ambiguous answer
. She was regretting bitterly that she had ever agreed to this expedition. Mallt’s loud chatter broke the peace of the forest and drove away the birds and little animals that gave Rhiannon so much pleasure. Twice Rhiannon had tried to hush the continuous stream of Mallt’s loud complaints. Mallt had looked at her in simulated surprise, protesting that there was no one to hear her in the woods, and even if there were, she was not ashamed of her condition or purpose.

  In desperation Rhiannon had tried to hurry Mallt along so that she could be sooner rid of her. This had drawn even louder complaints, of fatigue, of being out of breath, and at last a stumble—only partly contrived—which left Mallt weeping and rubbing an ankle. Rhiannon had sighed, partly with irritation and partly with relief, and suggested that they should return to Aber since Mallt could hardly walk further. This Mallt refused to do, weeping even louder and reminding Rhiannon that she had promised to find the herbs.

  “I can walk, if only you will help me and not go so fast,” Mallt cried.

  Patience was not one of Rhiannon’s strong points, but she was not one to break her word either. If she went back now, she would have to go out with Mallt another time. She helped her companion to her feet and assisted her onward, doing her best to close her ears to the continuing spate of talk that poured from Mallt’s lips. This effort not to hear was all too successful. Rhiannon did not notice the sharp snap of a twig behind instead of beside her, nor the fact that Mallt’s words flowed even faster and louder for a moment. She had withdrawn into herself so successfully that she was totally unaware of anything unusual—until a heavy, evil-smelling cloth was flung over her head and pressed hard into her mouth.

  The method of attack, which effectively muted and blinded Rhiannon, had been the result of considerable frightened planning on Madog’s part. When he initially made the plan, he had intended to sneak up behind Rhiannon and strike her on the head. Then he realized this would not do at all. If he did not strike her quite hard enough, she would surely realize who had attacked her, and she might have time to make her curses last after death. Madog had no idea how long the formulae were; it might take only one word. On the other hand, if he hit her too hard, she might die of the blow. To kill a witch directly, Madog knew, made her curses more virulent.