Thank you to everyone who reviewed. It was quite unexpected and I was overwhelmed. *bowing* All of you know that this story was originally written in German and that I tried to translate them The last few chapters, however, have been translated by my daughter. Thank you so much, my dear!

It will be a while until the next chapter, but I would never abandon a story.

Illusions 29

Guy knew he was still a prisoner even though his prison walls were now those of the fortress and he was being treated in a polite manner. Still, he felt he could breathe more freely now. They had given him a comfortable room and his meals were like he remembered them from before.

There were times when he dined at Lord Rhys's table. Guy did not cherish the illusion that the prince actually wanted to talk to him. Often he felt the prince's cool grey eyes upon him and even though he neither could nor wanted to compare the prince to Sheriff Vaysey in the slightest, that did not mean that he intended to disclose his personal intentions to him. Thus, Guy remained polite but reserved. Weeks later when Lord Rhys told him casually that the scandal at the English court had been replaced by different news, Guy's face had remained stony even though he knew exactly what this meant.

He still wasn't free to go and yet everything had changed. Guy knew that, as an Englishman, he was still under close watch at the Welsh prince's court but when rumours spread of why he had been banned and on what grounds he had tried to kill the horrible king, several of the looks thrown at him changed. Guy realised that Lord Rhys had not permitted the rumours to spread for philanthropic reasons but because he knew it would weaken his own position if he allowed an ill-respected man to stay at his court.

Guy had never been one to accept a simple lifestyle, and it had been hard for him to cope with the thought of having to lead his life a simple man. Back then, in Nottingham, he had had a brilliant future ahead of him as the future Earl of Huntington and Marian as his wife. Now all that had shattered like glass. However, he had realized that this would have been a fragile possession anyway. Marian had not loved him, and had she actually married him, it would have been to spy on him, and in spite of his title he would still have dependent on the Sheriff, whom he had despised.

Guy had had a lot of time to think, and even though he supposed that Rhobert thought him a better person than he was there were things he did regret. It was too late however, he could not change his past, nor did he have any influence on what the future would bring. Still, he knew that, if he continued to be loyal to the prince, he was given a chance at this court he would never have again.

He wouldn't ever sell his soul again, but he would make use of this chance.

Rhys ap Gruffydd was not entirely sure what he should do with this Englishman. The man owed him his life, and Rhys trusted Rhobert's belief that he would be grateful.

He also knew that there was no alternative for Guy. If he stayed at the Welsh court, he would get the chance to prove himself as a soldier. Should he choose to leave, he could do so only to a foreign country.

Yes, he would give him weapons and the chance to prove his loyalty.

"Have the Englishman come to me", he ordered one of his servants, who duly left to look for Guy. He found him with Robert. So far, there had not been a lot for Guy to do, so the two of them had taken up their Welsh lessons again, even though Rhobert laughingly conceded that his friend still showed little talent for this language.

Guy followed the servant while Rhobert looked for his brother. Griffin would be leaving Dinefwr in a few days.

Guy bowed deeply, finding himself under Rhys's close scrutiny. "I have reached a decision as to your future. You may go, but that would mean your leaving the country entirely. Or you may choose to stay – but only in my services." He looked at Guy, who was standing before him both expectantly and silently, but Guy had not expected anything different. "I assume you have not held a sword for quite some time; you will therefore have the opportunity to practice your skills again. Follow the guard; you will receive a sword and partake in the practice fights. After that we shall see if there are other tasks suitable for you."

Guy bowed again. „I thank you, my Lord, and will serve you loyally, but I won't and can't set foot on English soil ever again."

Musing, Rhys's eyes trailed after Guy. He had made it clear that he would not assist in a fight against England, but that he would be loyal. If he proved to be reliable, he could use him in the fights against the English, who kept showing up on the border. These fights would show whose side he was on, and may God have mercy on him if he turned out to be a traitor. On the other hand, should he prove to be useful…

The prince knew he had to be careful for his own position was not as strong as it used to be. He had aged, and even though most of his men were loyal to him, there were others thinking it was time to step aside and let his sons take his place.

A sword… he would be allowed to carry a weapon again. Still numb, Guy followed the young guard, who handed him a sword and then returned to his post. Guy felt the hilt in his hand, a shiver ran down his spine and his fingers glided down the blade in something close to a caress. It was a little rusty, and jagged in one place, but nonetheless a sword; he would sharpen it himself, and even though he was out of practice, that would change soon.

"I'm glad to see you again before I leave!" Griffin grinned. "Still, it is time to get myself home." In the past few weeks, Griffin had led a group of soldiers intended to get the spreading number of highwaymen under control.

But Rhobert knew that his brother wanted and would go home tomorrow. His youngest son was only a few months old, and Rhobert had seen precious few men who were as much in love with their wives after eight years as his brother. "Maybe Morared will be mollified by what I will surprise her with." He withdrew a green silk scarf from his bag and continued after a look at Rhobert's blank face. "I know you know nothing about silk – and neither do I – but after I had heard Lady Efa yell it was the best silk she had ever seen, I had to have it. Morared will look infinitely better in it." Rhobert smiled; Morared could probably wear sackcloth and still be the most beautiful woman on earth to his brother. Griffin folded the shiny cloth again. „The merchant also offered a beautiful necklace and a ring; allegedly from a young woman sent or banished or whatever to the abbey in Middletown by the King. What a blabber; he wanted to raise his price, that's all!

Rhobert had only half-listened to his brother; he was looking out of the window and said nothing. Griffin scrutinized Rhobert; he had managed to get himself under control after Bishop Cadarn had released him from his vows, but now it was obvious that he was not happy. Not even his books, which had arrived meanwhile, had been able to console him. "If you hadn't met this Englishman, you'd still be in the monastery." Griffin grumbled.

"If I hadn't met Guy, I'd probably be dead." his brother reminded him. "I could not have defended myself against the highwaymen.

"Hmhm," Griffin grumbled, then replied: "What will you do here? It seems your friend has already found an occupation." His gaze had followed Rhobert's and stopped at Guy crossing the yard with a sword in his hand.

Rhobert's shoulders stiffened. "Lord Rhys will find a task for me; why else would he wish to keep me here? Do me a favour, Griffin. Send for my daggers and the chain mail. They are still in the chest in my old room, aren't they?"

"I don't assume you'd want to use them yourself, Rhobert, and I am not sure it is such a good idea what you intend to do. You may consider the Englishman your friend, but this is too much. He is still a stranger, and yet you want to give him these treasures. I am aware that they are yours, but I'm telling you: think about it."

"Griffin, none of you needs those things, and I assume no one wants them either; otherwise, you'd have asked me a long time ago. And believe me, I know what I'm doing."

"Whenever you've taken something into your head, you've pursued it, Rhobert; your outward calm manner is pretty misleading", Griffin grumbled. "I will send for your things.

The brothers embraced and Rhobert went back. He had told his brother he was confident that Lord Rhys would have a task for him, yet in fact he was not positive there was a place for him here. He would not take up a sword. But when he had reached his chambers, a servant was waiting for him there, telling him Lord Rhys was expecting him.

Rhobert was surprised to see a boy of about seven years standing next to Lord Rhys. Brown curls framed a fine-featured face with a narrow, straight nose. He was wiry rather than tall and was scrutinizing Rhobert with serious, grey eyes. Rhobert had seen the boy a few times before and knew him to be one of Lord Rhys's younger sons. But why was he here?

"This is Rhobert ap Morthwyl, Bran, and he will be your teacher", Lord Rhys explained. "He will teach you reading, writing, English and much more." The boy did not seem overjoyed by this prospect and glared at Rhobert. "Reading is for girls and monks", he muttered. "And why would I need English?"

"Do you want to rely on girls and monks, Bran?" his father asked. "Also, you should speak the enemy's tongue."

Bran said nothing for a moment, then nodded. "Go now, Bran, I will tell you the rest later." Bran bowed briefly and quickly left the room, glad to get back to his horse.

"I told you already I need men like you, Rhobert. It is not my mere wish to see Bran learn how to read and write that prompted me to entrust him to you. You can mould him and help him to see the word with different eyes. Be his friend." The prince's eyes twinkled. „There is one thing, however, in which I hope you shall not serve as an example: Bran will learn to wield a sword, and it would do you good to practice your fighting skills again… Yes, I know what you're about to say, but do try yourself in a fistfight. Practice with your friend, if you wish. There may be a time when I will make use of you as an emissary."

Rhobert's face had brightened up and Rhys could see how the young mean had already begun to think about the implications of his new position. "Maybe it will stimulate Bran's efforts if you teach one of his sisters in reading and writing as well. The boy's ambitious and he would not like being bested by a girl. I will send him and his sister Gwyneth to you tomorrow."

With these words, he dismissed Rhobert.

Outwardly, Rhys did not betray how worried he was. His son Maelgwyn was estranged to him since he knew that not he but Gruffydd would be the heir to the realm of Deheubarth. Gruffydd, in turn, seemed impatient for his father to die. Sometimes Rhys thought he could die with a lighter heart if he thought his son capable of preserving the realm, but he wasn't. And neither were the younger sons, Hywel and Maredudd, who were nothing but scallywags and wimps.

If only his other sons had a bit more of Bran in them! Rhys sighed. The boy was not even eight years old, and one of his illegitimate sons at that, but looking into his grey eyes, Rhys saw himself many, many years ago.

Bran was a lively boy and interested in everything. He was a good rider and Rhys knew already he would make a fine warrior – if he lived up to this age at all. Not that he was a sickly child – on the contrary – but Rhys had seen several times that Gruffydd was eyeing his younger brother with envy in his eyes. Perhaps Rhys had made a mistake in keeping Bran so close to him; even if he would never be heir to the throne, everyone could see that the boy was close to his heart.

Rhys knew he was too old to protect his son much longer, and now he had chosen a former monk and an Englishman at that for this task.