Illusions 25
"What are you waiting for? Just do him in and then we are off." Guy heard voices from far away and when he opened his eyes, he was lying in the tavern's court. Groaning, he touched the back of his head and tried to sit up, but felt the sharp blade of a knife at his throat and looked into the sneering face of one of the soldiers. "Not so hasty," said the man and another one added. "I'd like some fun at first. Only cutting his throat….nah… We could take him to the smithy. He won't so schtum when he feels the sledge hammer on his fingers…." He laughed like a billy goat. "…or on his kneecap."
Guy glanced into the men's hostile faces. This was the end; he had no chance whatsoever. Four, five men, not including the burly chap Guy had dashed to the ground and the soldier who was still clutching his bloody shoulder. They would bury him somewhere in the thicket and even if someone asked whether they had seen the Englishman they would deny it; the Bishop would think he had left without permission and only Rhobert would suspect something, but by then he would be dead.
Before he had time to react, two men yanked him to his feet and bound his hands behind his back. "You're right," one of them said, pushing Guy forward. "Let's have some fun first."
"You've got only sawdust between your ears," Guy suddenly heard the cold voice of Morgan ap Owain. "We won't kill him…." He was pulled around and looked into the glacial eyes of the young captain.
A murmur arose. "Why are you spoiling the party?"
"Oh, he will die, but we'll get a reward. Blunderheads! Haven't you seen how the Englishman fought? This is not a man used to the pen but to a sword; this is not a Bishop's scribe; he is an English spy!" An English spy… The men fell silent. „Bind him carefully and then we'll bring him to the Lord Rhys!" Morgan added and sneered at Guy.
Guy's legs were bound to so that he was only able to make little steps and then he was pushed forward. He laughed aloud; even if he told the truth, nobody would believe him and he would be executed as an alleged spy of the English King. The soldiers looked at each other, shaking their heads. Had the bloke gone mad?
Rhys ap Gryfudd was looking down at the man who was kneeling before his throne. "Up with him," he said with deceiving calm. "I want to see his face." A soldier dragged him to his feet and Guy felt the monarch's glance. Their eyes met and Guy knew at once that this man could not be underestimated. He was an old man, well above sixty, but his grey eyes were sharp. "Off with his tunic!" The guard hurried to obey Lord Rhys' order and ripped the garment from Guy's upper body. Rhys' mien was grim. „I hope you won't waste my time and tell me you are a scribe. I know a warrior's body when I see it…. You will hang from the highest pinnacle of my castle but you will talk at first, believe me. What does Richard want to know?"
Guy's lips curled in the hint of a smile while his eyes got an absentminded gaze, but he remained silent and Rhys strained his eyes. What was it with this man? Something was wrong, but he would find out. The Englishman had come with Bishop Cadarn; perhaps he knew something.
Lord Rhys addressed Morgan. "Wake the Bishop up!" A little smile lit his eyes. It would be amusing to see how the fat hypocrite squirmed with embarrassment.
While the captain disappeared to fetch the Bishop, Lord Rhys mustered his captive. This was not the first spy King Richard had sent, but obviously not the most apt. Most of the other spies had disguised themselves as pedlars; some of them had even been men of Welsh ancestry – traitors! They had died most painfully. As Morgan had told him, this one spoke Welsh only brokenly and had not tried to make friends with anyone. Instead he had mostly roamed around the woods. What had he wanted to spy out? It was obvious that the Englishman was not what he had pretended to be. Not only was he a warrior; his stance showed that he was no common man…
Your Excellency?...."
Bisphop Cadran blinked. Who dared to disturb him in the middle of the night? Brother Padrig was standing in the door. Despite the dim light of the candle, Cadarn saw at once that something dreadful must have happened. The little monk was trembling and harrumphed. "Your Excellency, the…the Englishman…" His voice cracked and he could only croak. "He…. a spy….Lord Rhys…."
„A spy…? Cadarn repeated, stuttering. With trembling hands he removed the soft featherbed. "A spy? This cannot be…" He fell silent. Of course this man could be a spy; from the beginning he had had a bad feeling about the Englishman and now…. A cold shiver ran down his back. What if they held him responsible? It was not his fault; it had only been due to Father Rhobert's appeal… "I'm coming." Although he had barely understood Brother Padrig's words, he knew that he had to appear before Lord Rhys at once.
A washbowl was standing on a little chest of drawers in his chamber and Cadarn washed hastily. There was no time to choose another garment and so he had to dress in yesterday's habit and slipped into his shoes. Brother Padrig was waiting in the anteroom and then lead him to Lord Rhys.
What should he say? Of course Lord Rhys would understand…. The door to the Great Hall opened. He wiped his sweaty hand at his garment and hurried to approach the throne although his first impulse was to flee. What if the Prince thought he was a spy too?
Rhys a Gruffydd looked disdainfully at the little fat sweaty man who approached him, waddling. He held the priests and monks, who were serving under mostly hard circumstances in remote villages and monasteries, in high regard, but men like Cadarn were a disgrace for the Church and for the country. Not for a minute he believed that the Bishop himself was involved in a conspiracy; he was too dimwitted and too greedy, always concerned about his own safety. "Bishop Cadarn…" he said deliberately. "You know, why I have called you?"
"Yes,...of course…" the little man stammered, completely intimidated and forgetting the dignity as a Bishop of the Church he liked to show at other times as a rule. "Well… I… I cannot tell you anything. It was Father Rhobert,….yes, Rhobert ap Morthwyl, who told me that this man was his friend. I remember exactly: He stated explicitly that the Englishman was his friend and that he had saved his life and that he would read the Bible to me for charity's sake and I'd never suspected that…."
"Rhobert ap Morthwyl?"
Bishop Cadarn nodded, relieved. "Shall I have him called, my Lord?"
"Yes, send a messenger at once." Rhys ap Gruffydd watched the Bishop's retreating figure. He knew the Abbot and held him in high regard. Besides he was Griffin ap Morthwyl's brother and Griffin was one of his most faithful subjects. Had Rhobert been deceived? A few days hence and he would know.
Guy had stood there without moving and had stared into space, but he became alert when the Bishop mentioned Rhobert's name. What if the Prince thought Rhobert a spy too? What if he didn't even ask?…Cling together, swing together? No, Rhobert, I will not take the risk that you must pay for something that is not your fault. They will hang me anyway. I have to do something…
"My Lord, there is no need to call the Abbot. I have fed him some sappy storyline he believed. You were right; King Richard has sent me."
Lord Rhys had watched Guy from the corner of the eye and had noticed his facial expression. Why had the man confessed so sudden? Perpaps to avoid the interrogation? If so, he had deluded himself. „Morgan, take him away. It's too late today, but tomorrow morning you will make him talk. Be careful, It is no use if he dies off too soon. I have to know what the English King is planning. You were watchful and I will reward you. Well done, Morgan!"
Morgan ap Owain bowed deeply. He could barely conceal the triumph in his eyes; He had only been a captain up to know, but now he was a made man, a famous man.
Once again in a dungeon and this time in a foreign land and without any hope of rescue. He had no idea what he should tell them about any plans of King Richard's to attack Wales. He only hoped that it would be over soon, that the men would make a mistake and kill him earlier than intended.
Morgan bowed before Lord Rhys. He was not content; so far they had handled the Englishman with kid gloves. He had been whipped and had lost some fingernails, but this had been all and the spy had not talked – yet. He would; this was Morgan certain of. There was no prisoner who could not been broken and Morgan looked forward to it. A pity that Lord Rhys wanted to wait until Rhobert ap Morthwyl's arrival. But Morgan had made an interesting discovery. In the Englishman's trousers they had found a letter, written in English. He didn't understand this language, but he knew that his Prince did. Morgan snorted; how dumb of this spy to bring a letter with him!
Lord Rhys read the letter for a third time. This was not what he had expected, not a letter with instructions or anything similar. Who were these Anne and Osgood of Gringstow and what did they mean with the mentioning of hatred towards the King? The letter must have been very important for the Englishman; obviously it had been read numerous times. Perhaps the Abbot could explain what it meant. He should arrive any day.