Rhys was unsteady on his feet and walked with an odd, rocking motion from side to side, catching himself on alternating sides of the wall with outstretched hands. Owen imagined his hand slipping through the wall to the Otherworld. His hand, arm, head, body would disappear. .
‘I do not like this place,’ Rhys whispered.
‘Nor do I. And I must return alone. While you are being tended, given wine, a pallet on which to sleep, I shall be crawling back to Clegyr Boia. Think on that and thank God you are not me.’ As for Owen, he might be relieved to move more quickly when not encumbered with his weak companion, but he thought he much preferred having human company to share the darkness.
‘What is that?’ Rhys hissed. ‘A darkness up ahead.’
Owen shone the lantern. ‘The door. We are at the palace undercroft.’ He pushed on the door gently, not wishing to alert the wrong person to their presence. It did not move. ‘Now we must await our deliverers.’ Owen shuttered the lantern to allow only a faint light, eased down on to the stone floor. At least this close to the palace it was dry. But uneven. It was difficult to find a comfortable seat.
Rhys crouched down beside him. ‘This is a hellish spot.’ His voice trembled, with weariness, Owen guessed, not fear. His breathing was laboured though it had not been a difficult journey.
Owen shone the thin line of light up the tunnel. ‘There. We should see anything that cares to approach.’
‘What if no one comes to unbar the door?’
‘Then we return to Clegyr Boia. But let us not be hasty. They must await a quiet moment, when no servants are about. Sit down. Your legs will cramp if you crouch like that for long. Tell me about that day on Whitesands.’
Rhys eased himself down against the opposite wall so he faced Owen. ‘I do not like to think on that day.’
‘The Archdeacon of Carmarthen will have the same request. It will go easier if you have rehearsed it. Come. You owe me something, do you not think so?’
Rhys bowed his head. Again he held his hand over the bleeding ear, though he did not touch it. ‘I have no need to rehearse it. I cannot forget it. His eyes. I have seen the eyes of the Devil, burning with hate.’ Rhys’s words echoed as he fell silent a while, if not speaking but breathing quickly in pain might be called silent.
Owen did not like Rhys talking of the Devil in this dark place.
In a while, Rhys raised his head. ‘You have seen my son, and Tangwystl. You see what I have lost.’
‘I do.’
‘All for the greed of Gruffydd ap Goronwy. I cannot believe that my love carries any of his blood in her veins.’
‘He betrayed you to save his family.’
‘That is what he says. He was entrusted with money for Owain Lawgoch collected by his supporters. One of Owain’s men was to land in Tenby and come to his house for it. But when he came, Gruffydd said he had it not. Others knew that he did. What had he done with it? That is what robbed his family of their home, their name. Owain’s man disappeared, but before long it was heard that someone had denounced Gruffydd to my Lady Pembroke.’
‘Did Gruffydd not need money for your marriage to Tangwystl?’
‘Did he plan to use Owain’s money for our wedding? Perhaps. But I do not believe it. Still. When I received the message that he had come to St David’s to talk to me, I hoped-’ Rhys put his hand to his ear. ‘It burns.’
‘Aye. I do not doubt it. How did you come to meet him at Whitesands?’
‘I was here, in the bishop’s palace, waiting to present my petition to the bishop. I hoped Bishop Adam would annul Tangwystl’s marriage to Sir John, seeing that we were already pledged to one another. One day a pilgrim just arrived sought me out, said a man with a silver wing over his temple awaited me at Whitesands. That I would learn something that would help my petition.’
‘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.