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Illusions 28
The Prince rose and Guy and Rhobert knew they were dismissed. They bowed and left the Great Hall.
Rhobert led Guy into his brother's chambers. Griffin had his brother's green eyes, albeit darker hair and was noticeably shorter. He looked at Guy sceptically, then nodded, but did not extend his hand. While he noted with relief that Rhobert had gotten a grip on himself, Griffin was not prepared for what his brother was about to tell him. He was grateful for Rhobert's presence, yet uncertain about this Englishman Rhobert called his friend. He did not quite know what to make of him.
Morgan was cursing away. It could not be true what he had just heard! A guard had said that Lord Rhys had set the Englishman free. According to Rhobert ap Morthwyl, the man was not a spy, and apparently Lord Rhys had believed that. And what about the reward the prince had promised him? Morgan could already picture his companions' sneering faces. He had let them carry on and have their fun with the Englishman and then cut his throat. One more or less of this riffraff did not matter. If one of Rhys's sons, Gruffydd or Maelgwyn, were in power, something like this would never have happened. Lord Rhys was getting rich and obviously soft. If things went on like that, Wales would be easy prey for the English.
Morosely, Morgan emptied another cup of wine. "You were supposed to see Lord Rhys", he heard a voice behind him say. Hastily, he got up and stopped to rinse his mouth with water. Lord Rhys did not like his soldiers drinking so early.
Surprised, Rhys looked at the young captain and frowned. The man had obviously been drinking. So far there had been no complaints about Morgan ap Owain and his watchfulness justified a reward even though the Englishman was apparently no spy for King Richard after all.
More coolly than intended he greeted the soldier. "I had promised you a reward, Morgan, and I will keep my word. You know that Amhar was severely wounded at the last attack by the English. He will retain a stiff leg and I will need a new captain for the guard. You earned that through your vigilance. "
Morgan bowed. "I thank you for the honour, my Lord. "
Rhys's eyes followed the leaving captain thoughtfully. Despite his thanks he had felt the man's disappointment. Had he made a mistake in alienating him a post of such great responsibility? Then he pushed the thought aside; maybe he had been mistaken.
Captain of the Guard, ha! Inside, Morgan was seething. It was a highly respected position – which brought no money. What a reward! But he had hardly been in a position to tell the prince. If this abbot hadn't shown up, the Englishman would have been hanged as a traitor and everyone would be uttering the name 'Morgan ap Owain' with deference. But now… Apart from his good looks, the sinewy build, the dark blond curls and dark green eyes, he had inherited nothing from his father, which admittedly amounted to many passionate nights in different beds, but nothing more.
Morgan's mood did not pick up when he heard that Rhobert ap Morthwyl would enter into the King's service, a man who, although a giant, had wasted his time hiding in a monastery, reading. It was like he had thought for some time: the prince was becoming senile. What was the former abbot supposed to do? Read to him? But then his face brightened. Gruffydd would appreciate being kept up to date as far as his father was concerned.
The sisters had welcomed them warmly for the most part and Marian was feeling bad, thinking of how cold she had been in the first few weeks. Still, she had remained isolated in a way. The majority of the nuns were the daughters of simple peasants and Marian felt their reserve towards the noblewoman from the King's court. The curiosity was great; what might this woman have done to be sent to a convent on the Welsh border?
Marian took several walks in the surrounding area, including a small village close to the convent, but the people there remained monosyllabic; they obviously mistrusted her.
Mother Catharine had made a big effort to win her confidence but Marian could not bring herself to confide in anybody. After all, what could she say? That she had fallen in love with the man to be hanged for attempted regicide? That she considered her former fiancé, the famous Robin of Locksley, superficial and narcissistic? Thus, she remained alone.
The royal vanity and wish for revenge did in fact, when she thought about it, guarantee that she would not have to stay in the convent forever. He would want to humiliate her and see if the time with the sisters would make her biddable. When he decided to send for her, she would be easy prey to King Richard. This time he wouldn't wait but take what he wanted and show her who was stronger. There was nobody to take her side; Robin wouldn't dare oppose the King.
This prison didn't have any insurmountable doors or bars; no one would restrain her if she left the convent, but where would she go? If she didn't want to spend the rest of her life a maid, she would have to see that she didn't leave in a destitute state. She owned neither silver nor gold, only her jewellery and valuable scarves and silk. Perhaps… Sometimes merchants drove by; she would not get much for it but the first thing she would sell was a green silk veil Robin had given to her.
Dylan was whistling joyfully. This was the best deal he had ever made in his life; never before had he seen such a piece of fine silk. He would get a good price for it at the court of the Welsh prince, which would enable him to buy more goods. He had already paid more than he had intended – who would have thought that such a fine lady knew how to bargain – but at least he had the prospect of a lot more treasures. Why slaughter the cow one could milk? He grinned; the young woman could hardly be called a cow. She had dark, slightly curly hair, maybe a little too slim. If she hadn't looked so sad and pale, she would have been quite beautiful. The villagers had called her a noblewoman from King Richard's court. Dylan wondered what she could have done to be sent to this convent. He wrapped the silk carefully, mounted his cart and continued his way to Dinefwr.
Many of the fine fabrics and pieces of jewellery that had once filled her chests had been transferred to the merchant who had come to stop here regularly now. Naturally, she was receiving but a small part of what the items were worth, but what was she supposed to do? Still, the man had noticed that she wouldn't part with her treasures for easily.
It was not a whole lot of money, even if she sold all of her jewellery, but it would be sufficient for an independent, albeit simple life. If she stayed here, she would fall prey to the King. She did not want to end up a prostitute; Guy's remark still stung.
During the day she managed to suppress her thoughts of Guy, but at night she lay awake frequently, picturing his face, sometimes gentle, sometimes furious and full of hatred and sometimes…dead. Very likely he was indeed no longer alive. Only a few Englishmen found their way to Wales; the hatred of everything English was pervasive, and maybe he had been beaten to death. She had often asked travelling merchants and monks on their way to Wales even though she didn't know what she expected. Her heart had clenched every time she had asked if a knight had been found dead on the border or if anybody had been imprisoned. She knew how unlikely it was for somebody to have heard of Guy, and still – a small flicker of hope remained. But time passed and everybody she asked shook their head.
Whenever she thought of Robin it was with bitterness. She had told him not to bother writing to her, but it had been in a fit of rage; deep down she had hoped he would write anyway. Had he forgotten her so quickly? Was the King the only one important? Too late she had noticed that Robin was like a little boy feeding on a father's attention.
It was no use brooding about it. A few more months until she had sold everything and then she would start a new life – alone.