Spectre of the Sword (33 page)

“Your silence is answer
enough,” she said softly. “Forgive me if I upset you. But know this; I was
unkind to you when we first met, but not for the same reasons others may treat
you badly. I was unkind simply because I was afraid.  But you have always been
very kind to me and now I think of you as a friend.  Remember that, Edward; we
have become friends. And friends help friends in need.”

She resumed her seat at
her palette, picking up her brush again and returning her focus to her
painting.  She would not say any more to him tonight, but she had planted a
seed in his mind.  And she intended to nurture that seed if there was any hope
of escape.

CHAPTER FOURTEEN

The plan to storm Ludlow
had come to a complete halt for two days.  That was how long the Lady Dustin
had been in labor, struggling to bring forth an enormous child that was
unwilling to be born.   Christopher was an emotional cripple and David along
with him, leaving the duties of preparing for the siege to Edward, Lawrence and
Rhys.  Oddly, Rhys seemed to be coming around during this time and had become a
semblance of his former self.  He was an excellent tactician and a master of
logistics, and planning the retrieval of Elizabeau had given him a reason to
live.  Those around him saw the gradual transformation but none dared to hope
that it was permanent.

While the men planned
and plotted in the solar, Christopher sat in the great hall with his brother,
perched like a stone at the long table and staring off into space.  He hadn’t
slept since Dustin’s labor began and the more time passed and no child was
forthcoming, the more anguished he became.

There was a midwife and
a physic with Dustin, monitoring her progress closely. She had the best of
care.  But it was Christopher’s worst nightmare come to life when the physic
approached him on the eve of the second night of his wife’s labor.  The old
man’s face was grim as he stood next to the table, gazing down at the haggard
earl.

“My lord,” he said. “I
have discussed your wife’s condition with the midwife and we have come to the same
conclusion.  This child is too big for your wife to birth him.  She needs help
or we will lose them both.”

Christopher wavered
unsteadily even as he sat there. “What kind of help?”

“We must cut her open
and take the child.”

Christopher bolted to
his feet, weaving dangerously. “Cut her open? What in the hell are you
suggesting?”

“It is not as it
sounds,” the old man assured him. “We make an incision in her belly and pull
the child forth.  Then we stitch the wound and she will heal.  I have done it
in the past when there is no other alternative.”

Christopher didn’t know
what to say.  By this time, the men in the solar had heard the conversation and
they trickled out, watching the situation with concern.   Edward and Rhys made
their way over to where the earl and David stood, facing the little physic, to
better hear what was said.

“But… how will you do
this?” Christopher asked. “Will you give her something to make her sleep so she
will not feel pain?”

The little man shook his
head. “I have nothing of that nature. But I will be swift about it, be
assured.”

Christopher’s eyes
opened wide. “You are going to cut her open while she is conscious?”

“If I do not, she will
eventually die and the child with her.  She is already weakening.”

Christopher looked as if
he was going to pass out.   But he steeled himself, wiping a hand over his face
as if that would help him make the correct decision. He looked at his brother,
who was gazing back at him with great fear, and then to Edward. The dark-haired
knight merely stared back without any outward reaction. But when Christopher’s
gaze fell on Rhys, the unshaven, shaggy man nodded strongly at him.

“Knock her unconscious
with the butt of a blade, my lord,” he told him in a quiet, assured voice. “It
is the merciful thing to do.  She will awaken with a headache but no memory of
being cut in to.”

The physic nodded in
agreement. “If you have the courage to do it, then it would indeed be
merciful.  It will take me only a few minutes to make the incision and remove
the child.  But we must do it right away.  You must make your decision.”

Christopher drew in a
sharp breath, raking his hand through his hair and struggling to make the right
choice.  If he refused, his wife would probably die and the child with her. But
if he agreed, it would be the most horrific event he had ever experienced. 
Still, he could not lose her. Not when he had been given the choice to save
her.

“Very well,” he agreed
hoarsely, moving for the stairs that led to the upper levels.  “I will do it.”

The little physic
scooted after him, following the lumbering earl up the steps.  David was still
stunned, so he sat back at the table with Edward beside him while Rhys returned
to the solar.  The men were speaking quietly of the earl’s wife and he snapped
his fingers to get their attention.  Posting himself by the giant map table, he
put his hands on his hips decisively.

“We cannot control what
happens with Lady Dustin, but we can control the events of this siege,” he said
firmly. “Let us return our attention where it belongs. We are preparing to
breach Ludlow and we must have a firm plan in place. I would spare no detail
for this event, mostly because it is such an enormous place and, given the size
of it, it multiplies the things that can go wrong. I do not want to lose anyone
due to poor planning or stupidity. Agreed?”

The men around the
table, including Conrad and his retainers, nodded with varied degrees of
enthusiasm.  Rhys seemed to be shedding his somber persona by the second,
becoming much more of the man that most of them remembered.  Rod stood next to
his brother, watching the change, hearing the words of self-assurance and
wisdom coming forth from the man he had grown up idolizing. 

“We have sent word to
most of those locally who oppose the king,” Rhys said with authority. “Our
request is for manpower and materials and thus far we have received word from
Hay Castle that de Braose is sending five hundred men.   The trick is moving
them past Clifford Castle, to the north of Hay, which is held by the king.  If
Walter Clifford sees de Braose troops moving northward, he could either engage
or follow them. We clearly do not want that to happen.  Additionally, de Braose
is sending one hundred men from his holding of Knighton Castle to the north.”

The knights in the room
moved to huddle around the map, watching Rhys thump his knuckles at their
general vicinity.  He continued. “I have also sent word to Bronllys Castle to
the south where my grandfather is constable.  I have requested at least three
hundred men and I am sure he will provide me with all that and potentially
more.  Furthermore,” he jabbed a finger at a dark spot on the map, “as we all
know, the Welsh burned Clun Castle ten years ago so we can expect no help from
FitzAlan.  But Wigmore Castle to the south has a massive contingent of men, as
the castle is being expanded and parts rebuilt, so we have sent a request for
at least eight hundred men from Mortimer.”

Rod studied the map and
the distance between Ludlow and Wigmore. “How many men do we have now should we
decide to move before all of the reinforcements arrive?”

“The earl has nearly
nine hundred men here at Lioncross,” Lawrence, standing on the other side of
Rhys, answered his question. “De Braose’s five hundred should arrive sometime
tomorrow, giving us a little over fourteen hundred men, more than enough to lay
siege to Ludlow until the rest arrive.”

Rod cast his brother a
sidelong glance. “So we ride tomorrow for Ludlow?”

Rhys fixed him in the
eye. “I ride tomorrow for Ludlow,” he said, making sure each man was focused on
what he was about to say. “You will remain here for at least another day
because I intend to ride ahead and find a way to plant myself inside of
Ludlow.  From the interior, I can do what is necessary to ensure that Ludlow
falls to our forces. I can also get to Elizabeau before they either kill her or
move her.  I fear that once we lay siege, her life is forfeit.”

Rod’s brow furrowed.
“And how do you plan to gain entry? There are those who will know you on
sight.”

Rhys gazed back at his
brother, his brilliant blue eyes glimmering with the first flicker of life that
Rod had seen from him in three months. “Rod, look at me,” he said quietly. “If
you did not know who I was, would you recognize me?”

Rod stared at him a
moment before shaking his head. “Nay, I would not.”

“Neither would anyone
else. I’ve been banking on it for some time.”

Those around the table
began to look very strangely at him. “What in the hell are you saying?” Rod
asked.

“Think about it. Think
very hard.”

Rod did.  Then his eyebrows
rose as an idea dawned. “Are you saying that the hair, the beard, is to make
you unrecognizable to the enemy? That it is a… a disguise?”

Rhys shrugged. “I
assumed at some point we would discover her location and I have every intention
of gaining entry to her prison, no matter where or what it is, and personally
claim her.  I cannot do that if I look like myself.  I seem to be fairly
recognizable and I need to be able to slip in, wherever she is being held,
unnoticed. And now that we know it is Ludlow, I can also help orchestrate the
fall of the castle from my position inside.”

Rod’s jaw dropped. 
Beside him, the knights surrounding the table were in various stages of
confusion and understanding.   An unexpected scheme was unfolding, born from
the brilliance of Rhys’ cunning mind.   The man hadn’t been mad for the past
three months, simply biding his time.

Even Lawrence, ever the
shrewd and dangerous warrior, nodded his approval; he had known Rhys almost
longer than any of them and suddenly, it all made a good deal of sense.

“Excellent,” he
commented quietly.

But Rod ignored the
remark; he was still gaping at his brother. “Is that why you stopped cutting
your hair and shaving?” he demanded.

Rhys grinned. “You are
catching on, little brother. You are most definitely catching on.”

No one doubted for a
moment that Rhys’ appearance had been a cleverly crafted scheme. His mood and
manners were still another matter, but suddenly, the majority of his behavior
made sense. The man before them was the Rhys of old; calm, collected and
analytical.  With the earl and his brother focused on family issues, the burden
of command had, for the moment, fallen on Rhys.  He’d had a plan in mind from
the beginning, anticipating what he might have to do, because the stakes of this
venture would be higher than any he had ever faced.

The stakes were
Elizabeau.

***

She was so sick that she
could barely move.  Elizabeau had stayed in bed most of the morning because any
movement made her vomit. Since she had eaten so little over the past few days,
there was nothing in her stomach and she ended up dry heaving.  It was a
miserable condition.  Edward tried to coax broth and bits of bread down her,
but she refused to touch anything. She would not even drink water.

So she dozed on and off
into the morning, hearing sounds of a blustery snow storm outside.  Towards
noon, she awoke and, oddly, felt better, at least enough to sit up without
vomiting.  She even managed to sip at Edward’s beef broth.  But after two
little sips, she’d had enough and she was determined to get out of bed.

She looked about for her
robe, which was draped over a frame by the hearth where Edward had put it to
warm it.   One of the ironies of her captivity was that she had collected
clothing from every castle she had been held captive at; not having anything
but the clothes on her back when she was abducted, her captors took on a
peculiar benefactor roll by providing her with beautiful clothing, shoes,
cloaks, robes, and in one case, even jewels.  Everyone wanted to bestow gifts
on Henry’s granddaughter to say that had done something kind for her.  As a
result, she had a glorious wardrobe. 

The robe that Edward
placed on her shoulders was emerald brocade with gray rabbit fur lining. It was
big and heavy and warm.  He helped her put her arms through the thick sleeves
and even tied the sash around her waist.  He fussed over her and she let him.
He couldn’t seem to figure out why the sash wasn’t sitting correctly around her
waist and Elizabeau bit her lip, wondering if he would realize it was because
her belly was swollen.  But he made no such mention of her rounded belly and
when he was finally finished adjusting the bow, their eyes met and she smiled
wanly. 

“Thank you,” she said,
making her way stiffly over to a massive dressing table that held combs and
pins.  With a few strokes of a brush, she plaited her long hair into a single
braid that draped over her shoulder and secured it with a leather tie.

Being caged in a room
for weeks on end was not a particularly pleasant thing.  One of Elizabeau’s
favorite activities during this time had been standing at the window, watching
the activity of Ludlow three stories below.  It was an enormous place and there
was always something going on, but in this snow, she saw few people in the
bailey.  In fact, the soldiers were hardly on the walls, mostly huddled in
their guardhouses or in shelter away from the heavy weather.