Candace Robb - A Gift Of Sanctuary

‘And so you went to Gruffydd, hoping he wished to put things right.’

‘I do not think I had such hope. But news of Tangwystl and my son, I wished to know they were safe and thought of me. He did have news, told me Tangwystl believed I had abandoned her fearing I might bring my family down with hers. But I should be comforted to know that she loved John Lascelles, and that Sir John told all that Hedyn was his son. I had not seen Gruffydd’s greed in all my troubles until that day on the beach. In my anger I said too much. I told him that I meant to tell the bishop the truth of Pembroke’s accusation. He fell on me. I saw in his eyes that he meant to kill me. He is a strong man, and larger than me. And he was well armed. But suddenly he fell away and cried, “Murderer! Help me!” And another man now fell on me, sliced at my throat, but caught my ear. I thrust with my knife. Dear God, I shall never forget the feeling, as if my arm went through him, so deep went the knife. And my ear. Sweet Jesus, I thought I was burning in Hell, the pain was so hot. I pressed my head to the cool sand. I think I must have been screaming and screaming with the pain. But no one heard. And I remember nothing else until a tall, white-haired man lifted me to his horse.’

‘This Samaritan. Why did he help you and not Reine? And where was Gruffydd?’

‘I do not know.’ Rhys took a deep, shuddering breath. ‘But they told me later that someone had murdered Sir John’s son at Whitesands. I do not understand why Gruffydd did not help the man who came to his aid. I cannot see how I could have fought off both of them. I cannot think but that Gruffydd let the man die.’

It was strange. Owen had begun to think Gruffydd and John de Reine had acted together, to silence the one who threatened Sir John’s marriage. He remembered Gruffydd’s bandaged hand, the scar. ‘Gruffydd’s hand was badly cut — perhaps trying to grab your knife. But it was his left hand only. He might still have helped John de Reine.’

‘I will be hanged, I know,’ said Rhys. ‘But first I would see Tangwystl. Tell her I did not abandon her, but had gone seeking help. Will they let me see her?’

‘Tell Sir Robert your story, and I am certain he will bring her to you.’

‘And my son? Is he with her?’

‘No.’

‘At least to see her. Tell her.’

Father Edern shook Dafydd awake. ‘Your hands are loosed. Move slowly out of the firelight.’

Still confused from sleep, Dafydd massaged his wrists, wriggled his legs, his arms, then rose to a crouch. He was glad to move. And the first thing he wished was to relieve himself. He headed for the brush, with the priest hurrying after him.

When they were well into the brush, Edern asked, ‘Where is Rhys ap Llywelyn?’

‘Would that we knew,’ said Dafydd. ‘We might be safely home in bed, dreaming pleasant dreams. And pissing in private.’ The priest ignored the hint and stood behind Dafydd while he lifted his gown. So be it. Nature would not wait. His urine steamed in the cool, damp air. When he turned round, the priest was ready with the next question.

‘But these men were after him, were they not?’

‘They were indeed. Barbarians. They broke into my house to find him. And he, the ungrateful wretch-’

‘He is my brother.’

Dafydd raised his eyebrows at Madog, who had just joined them. ‘This priest is the pilgrim’s brother.’ He turned back to Edern. ‘That makes him no less ungrateful. I saved his life, granted him sanctuary in my home, and he murders the monk who nursed him and runs away.’

‘You exaggerate, Master Dafydd. Brother Samson is not dead, nor was he attacked — he was injured in a fall,’ Madog said. ‘Come. We must move quickly.’

‘What about Cadwal and Brother Dyfrig?’ Dafydd asked.

‘I have cut their bonds,’ said a dark-haired stranger. ‘But they must remain by the tree, so that if your captors look over, they suspect nothing.’

‘This is Gruffydd,’ said Edern. ‘He, too, seeks my brother.’ He told Gruffydd about Rhys’s escape.

The man stood there a moment, flexing his left hand and breathing hard.

‘Are you injured?’ Dafydd asked.

‘Do you know where Rhys was headed?’ Gruffydd asked, his manner brusque.

‘So much for offering sympathy.’ Dafydd shook his head. ‘How would I guess where the young man went? His grave, in the end.’

‘We believe he returned to St David’s, to finish his business there,’ Madog said.

Dafydd grabbed Madog by the sleeve and moved him away from the others. ‘You fool,’ he said under his breath, ‘you give these men too much information.’

‘We owe them our lives,’ said Madog. ‘And we now have no reason to head south. They will see to the young man. We are finished.’

Dafydd shook his head. ‘We are not.’ He noticed Gruffydd and Edern moving closer and said in a louder whisper, ‘I wish to complain to Bishop Houghton and the Archdeacon of Carmarthen about the treatment we have received from the hands of the Cydweli men. We demand recompense!’

‘We shall get none,’ Madog muttered.

‘We shall see.’ Dafydd nodded to Father Edern.

‘You two. Come help us plan our ambush,’ Edern said.

But Dafydd went his own way, towards the saddles and packs of his party, which had been piled near their tethered horses. He knelt to his pack, rummaged inside. ‘ Deo gratias ,’ he whispered. His torch heads had not been removed.

‘What did you draw from your pack?’ Gruffydd asked.

Dafydd did not like the man’s tone. ‘Why do you watch me?’

‘They are torch heads,’ said Madog. ‘Brimstone, saltpetre, Jew’s pitch, camphor, oil of Peter, terebentyne, and a goodly amount of duck’s grease.’

‘You would light torches and call attention to us?’ Gruffydd said.

Dafydd was not about to answer such a ridiculous question.

‘We shall create confusion so that we seem an army falling upon our captors,’ said Madog.

‘Slitting their throats would be quicker and quieter,’ Gruffydd said.

‘Can we trust him,’ Dafydd asked Edern, ‘this rude southerner who takes life so easily?’

‘Be at peace,’ said Edern. ‘We shall of course do your bidding, Master Dafydd.’

Rhys had grown quiet and Owen fought sleep when at last he heard the bolt being drawn on the other side. He shuttered the lantern, held his breath. Something might still have gone wrong. The door swung wide with a creaking that woke Rhys. He gripped Owen’s forearm.

Geoffrey’s form was a reassuring sight.

‘Dear God, I am thankful you found your way safely here,’ Geoffrey said. ‘When Edmund found Jared unconscious and Duncan gone we feared the worst.’

‘You feared rightly, but Duncan was no match for Iolo. How is Jared?’

‘He will recover, but he is in no condition to ride in the morning.’

‘Then Edmund must bring our horses and gear.’

‘I shall accompany him,’ Geoffrey said.

‘But you-’

‘The letters are delivered. Brother Michaelo is able to see to the rest.’

Owen had risen. He peered out into the corridor, saw only Brother Michaelo behind Geoffrey. ‘I thought to see Sir Robert here.’

Brother Michaelo cast his eyes downward. ‘He is confined to his bed, Captain.’

‘He is worse?’

‘He is very weak,’ said Michaelo. ‘The bishop’s physician can do nothing more than ease the pain and the coughing.’

Owen crossed himself. ‘Tell Sir Robert I am near, and that his message may save a life. Several lives. I will come to him as soon as I can.’

Rhys joined them. ‘You are not staying here?’ he said to Owen.

‘I must see to some things outside the city. But I will return soon.’