Rhuddlan (11 page)

The evening was clear and unusually mild for
October. Gwalaes loosened her cloak and stared up at the sky. The
moon was rising; in another hour it would be stark as daylight in
the ward. Now it was still dusky and the twinkling stars were
brightly visible against the black backdrop above. But she saw none
of the beauty.

Gwalaes wished heartily to be gone from
Chester. She and Eleanor did nothing but argue, mostly over Hugh
but also over Eleanor’s reluctance to appeal to her father for
help. Gwalaes was certain that Sir Thomas would demand his
daughter’s return if Eleanor desired it since he already believed
Hugh was responsible for the death of his beloved son. Eleanor,
however, flatly refused to entertain the idea.

After storming out of their chamber in the
morning, Gwalaes had calmed herself down enough to bring a tray of
breakfast to Eleanor soon afterward. But after visiting the chapel,
they’d argued again over Eleanor’s increasing withdrawal; she
hadn’t been seen in the hall in weeks. But there was no reasoning
with her. She left her apartment now only to pray in the chapel.
Prayer, she told an injured Gwalaes, was her sole comfort.

Gwalaes looked up at the stars and saw only
incredible space. She wished she could dive straight into the
blackness and never again have to struggle with the problems of
earth.

“But I’m stuck here forever,” she whispered
out loud.

Hers was a particularly untenable situation
because she didn’t fit neatly into life at Chester. She was
considered the countess’ personal servant but having grown up with
Eleanor she didn’t feel like a servant. And when she quarreled with
Eleanor, there was no place for her to go but to wander around the
different parts of the castle. People might nod to her but no one
spoke much with her. She had nothing at Chester except Eleanor’s
dwindling companionship.

She’d never felt more lonely.

An involuntary chill ran
down her back and she pulled her cloak close around her shoulders
again. She wished someone would come and save her from a future
which seemed endlessly grim. It wasn’t fair, she thought bitterly;
she was willing to aid Eleanor in whatever action Eleanor chose to
take against her plight but there was no one to help
her
.

“Are you—?”

She screamed, startled. A young man was
standing only a foot away from her shoulder. She hadn’t noticed his
approach.

He grinned and tried again. “Sorry. Are you
Gwalaes?”

It was one of the Young King’s messengers,
she realized. Her heart was still pounding from shock but she tried
to breathe normally because she had noticed him a few days ago and
had thought him cute. She didn’t want to embarrass herself in front
of a good-looking man, even though she could feel her face turning
red.

“Yes,” she answered but her voice sounded
scratchy. She cleared her throat. “Yes, I’m Gwalaes.”

She warned her imagination
not to go wild speculating that he had accosted her because he
found her devastatingly attractive. The explanation was probably as
simple as passing on a message. After all, he
was
a messenger.

“What’s so funny?” he asked, smiling.

“Nothing!” she said hastily. “Is something
wrong?”

“I don’t think so,” he answered cheerfully.
“I was told to inform you that someone named Alan d’Arques has just
come through the gate and is right now settling his horse in the
stable and would like to see you.”

Alan was here! She had barely stammered out
her thanks before her feet were moving her towards the shadowed
stables. It was unbelievable—uncanny—how she had just a moment ago
been wishing for someone to come and rescue her. And now here he
was! The coincidence was too staggering to believe. Perhaps Eleanor
was right after all about ardent prayer.

She hesitated only when she came to the
entrance to the stables and saw no sign of activity. The wide gate
was almost shut-to. She wondered if she should knock on it or just
push it in. The dilemma was solved when it was pulled roughly back
and a laughing man appeared in the doorway. She recognized him as
the Young King’s other messenger. He caught sight of her and held
the door open, and waited as she started through. She looked up to
thank him but his quick, conspiratorial wink forestalled her and
she turned her head in embarrassment. That was nerve, she thought
angrily; what did he think was going to happen?

She walked inside and glanced around, seeing
nothing but unidentifiable shapes in the dusky light. She could
hear the peaceful sounds of the horses; a sudden stomping hoof…a
gentle snort…the rustle of straw…“Alan?” she called in a low,
hesitant voice.

The stable gate shut with a jarring thud. She
whirled around in surprise and saw Roger of Haworth.

Although it was disconcerting to discover
that Haworth had materialized before her, she wasn’t frightened.
She didn’t much like him because he had failed to rescue Eleanor
when she had begged him to and it was true she had never seen him
smile—in fact, he looked perpetually angry—but she had heard only
positive things spoken about him. His devotion to the earl was well
known and approved of, and even Alan had commented favorably on his
willingness to demonstrate his martial skills to all the squires
and young knights in the earl’s entourage at a moment’s notice.
“He’ll batter you around pretty well in a mock fight but you’ll
learn more in those five minutes than you will in a week with
someone else,” Alan had once told her enthusiastically.

“He isn’t here,” Haworth said.

Gwalaes was confused. “Alan d’Arques? I was
brought a message that he’d arrived…”

“The message was false.”

“I don’t understand…”

Haworth started forward. “You were directed
here to get you out of the way,” he said. He spoke in a normal
voice with just the slightest edge of impatience to it.

Gwalaes drew her breath in angrily. “Why?”
she demanded. “What’s he doing to her now?”

Haworth hesitated, momentarily puzzled. Then
he understood what she meant. His lips twisted scornfully. “Is she
all you think about? You’re a very loyal servant.”

Gwalaes’ chin went up. “I’m hardly her
servant,” she sniffed. “That’s the point the earl doesn’t
realize.”

“But you’re wrong—he knows it too well,” he
said in a low voice, taking another step towards her. “And he
doesn’t approve.”

It dawned on Gwalaes that it was she, and not
Eleanor, who might be in danger and suddenly her heart was pounding
faster. She looked behind Haworth and saw that he had dropped the
bar across the door. What was his intent? She thought furiously. If
the door could be barred from the inside then there must be another
way out, probably through the stable master’s rooms. She tried to
recall the layout of this particular corner of the ward without
luck.

Haworth watched the girl’s expression change
from haughty disdain to fear. His own remained bland but his cold
eyes never moved from her face. Then she looked back at him,
suddenly wary, waiting for him to make his move like a caged bear
waiting for the dogs to come out and harass it. He snorted
contemptuously. “You needn’t fear I intend to ravish you. I
wouldn’t waste my time.”

“Then, what
will
you do?” she asked in
a shaking voice.

In reply, he reached behind his back and drew
forth a long dagger from his belt. The metal gleamed in the
torchlight and reflected briefly in her eyes.

Several of the horses in the common stall
behind her began to stamp and snort, perhaps disturbed by the
glinting light. The noise spooked her into action. There were only
two directions in which she could run: a short passageway to her
left which led, it seemed in the murky half-darkness, to the tack
room, and a longer corridor to her right which ran past the stalls
and disappeared into black in the distance. She saw that Haworth
stood closer to the shorter passage, and her mind was decided.
Without warning, she turned and ran down the longer aisle.

At first Haworth merely followed her at a
walk. He knew the way she’d chosen was a dead end; the joke wasn’t
lost on him. But she was a woman and apt to scream so he quickened
his pace. In the wall high above the passageway were narrow windows
through which the bright moon shone. The last few feet were in
darkness, but his eyes adjusted quickly as he came to a halt only
inches away from the stone wall which marked the end of the
building. Gwalaes was nowhere to be seen.

He cursed audibly and looked around. He heard
nothing but the noisy breaths of the horses on his right. She must
be in the stall with them, he thought; she couldn’t have vanished
into thin air. He squinted down at the ground. There were four
horses in the stall. Sixteen long and knobby legs…and two more
which did not end with hooves. With a grunt, he climbed over the
wooden barrier into the stall and pushed his way between the
animals.

In the milling confusion with uncooperative
horses, Gwalaes suddenly jumped out of the stall with a little cry
and ran back the way she’d come. Haworth’s reflexes were sharp. He
was just as quickly out of the stall and chasing after her. It had
all gone so well but now he wasn’t as certain. He should have done
it immediately, the moment she had walked like a sheep to the
slaughter into the stables, and not indulged in conversation with
her. But he needn’t have worried. He caught up with her as she ran
into the entranceway, panting so hard from fear that she was unable
to scream; he threw the crook of his left elbow around her slight
neck, pulled her chin up and back towards his chest and drew the
dagger swiftly and deeply across her throat. She strained against
him and gurgled once or twice…and then he released her and she fell
gracelessly to the floor in a heap.

He was still for a moment, listening, but no
sound came from the stable master’s quarters just beyond the tack
room. Well, with the amount of wine he’d seen the man put away at
supper he supposed there was little that would wake him up besides
time and strong sunlight through an unshuttered window. Still, he’d
had a scare when the girl had run away from him and he didn’t want
to take any more chances. He had to work quickly. He used his
bloody dagger to cut off a length of fabric from the hem of her
cloak. If he had been an imaginative man he might have wondered
briefly at all the blood that had rushed out of a single wound.
Instead, he dealt with it as efficiently and thoughtlessly as a
butcher. He used the cut cloth to mop up the mess on the ground,
then coiled it tightly around the gaping throat. He saddled one of
his horses and balanced the body between the high pommel and the
animal’s neck. He went to the door, unbarred it and peered out. All
was silent. No one was about. He went back inside, took down the
torch and extinguished it on the dirt ground where the body had
fallen and finally led the burdened horse out. After he had
carefully closed the door, he mounted his horse and shifted Gwalaes
until she was nestled in his arms and her lolling head was lying
peacefully against his chest.

The moonlight was a godsend, he thought,
although it would prove a bit awkward at the postern gate. It was
too much to hope that the solitary guard would be delinquent and he
would be able to pass by unnoticed.

The guard was indeed there, a young man with
an earnest appearance who was, unlike Gwalaes, terrified to see the
earl’s captain stopped before him. He was too awed to speak.

Haworth had positioned Gwalaes so that her
back was towards the guard. He greeted the younger man in a
friendly, hushed voice and asked him to open the gate. “As you can
see, I’ve got my hands full,” he whispered conspiratorially,
grinning. “Pardon her for not wishing you a good evening, but she’s
shy. We thought we’d see what the river looks like in the
moonlight. It’s a gentle enough evening for October.”

The castle lay at the southern tip of the old
Roman town and looked down upon the River Dee. To its west,
separated by the river and only a short stretch of tangled
woodland, was Wales. The postern gate faced in this direction and
Haworth proceeded along the path which would take him down to the
river.

He had no intention, however, of merely
tipping the body into the water; he thought the risk of discovery
was too great. Instead, he had decided to cross the river at a
point several miles south where it could be easily forded, travel a
short distance west and dump the corpse in the woods. The smell of
new blood would soon attract nocturnal scavengers. With the moon to
guide him and the bare October trees to obscure him—and the
trickiest bit behind him—he felt fairly confident of complete
success but cautioned himself against letting down his guard. He
was one soldier out alone in the dark and too close for comfort to
hostile territory. The Welsh were expert at raiding in small
groups, and they didn’t care that he was the captain of the earl of
Chester’s personal bodyguard.

He decided not to rely solely on luck for the
rest of his venture, even though luck had got him this far. He
lifted his right hand to his forehead, crossed himself and prayed
to God for protection.

Eleanor was awakened the next morning by the
sound of scraping. Gwalaes was making up the fire, she thought
groggily. Gwalaes always made too much noise in the morning because
she didn’t approve of Eleanor’s newly acquired habit of sleeping
late.

She was about to pull the sheet over her head
and roll over when she suddenly remembered that Gwalaes hadn’t
stayed with her last night. Instead of pretending sleep, she bolted
upright with a blistering accusation on her tongue.

Her mouth slammed quickly shut. It wasn’t
Gwalaes but another girl who was tending to the brazier and
returning her mistress’ shocked stare with an apprehensive one of
her own.