There was no warning. As the hay-wains came around a curve in the road, the brigands were waiting for them. Even before he saw that the men were masked, Rhun's heart began to thump wildly in his chest. Selwyn was driving the first hay-wain, and he jerked on the reins as the outlaw leader ordered them to halt. Alun did the same. He looked more resigned than fearful and shot Rhun a reassuring glance. Rhun wished he could be so calm, too, but he did not have Alun's decades of experience to draw upon.
The outlaw chief held the reins in one hand, a drawn sword in the other. The lower half of his face was covered by a knotted cloth, and a wide-brimmed hat shadowed his eyes. "Get down off the wagons," he commanded, and then glanced over his shoulder at his men, saying something in a language that was utterly foreign to Rhun. Selwyn and Madog did as they were told, and Alun had begun to climb stiffly down to the ground when the outlaw suddenly thrust his blade into Madog's chest. Looking surprised, Madog sank to his knees, then began to cough blood.
After that, everything seemed to happen in slow motion to Rhun. Two of the outlaws cried out in that guttural tongue, sounding alarmed. Alun shouted, "Run, lad!" to Rhun, and then he, too, was struck down by the outlaw's bloodied sword. The leader snapped a command to his men, but only one responded, kicking his horse forward as Rhun spun around and sprinted for the woods. Rhun did not get far. The outlaw caught him in a few strides, and leaned precariously from the saddle to swing a club at boy's head. Rhun tried to duck, but he still took a glancing blow that sent him sprawling.
Rhun rolled down an incline, thudding into a tree. For several moments, he was stunned, digging his fingers into the earth to keep from spinning off into space. Blood was streaming down his face and a red haze danced before his eyes. When he tried to move, bile rose in his throat and he vomited weakly into the grass. Alter that, he lay still, praying to Almighty God that they'd think he was dead.
He could hear more shouting in that unknown language, and then Selwyn's voice, sounding eerily calm. There was more talking that echoed in Rhun's ears like the buzzing of a beehive, incomprehensible and oddly muffled, as if coming from a great distance. Suddenly he heard Selwyn's voice again, clear and piercing and panicky. "What are you doing? Wait — no, wait!" There was a scream then, which ended in a sickening gurgle. Rhun shut his eyes tightly, trembling so violently that his teeth had begun to chatter.
The outlaws were yelling again. Rhun could make out one word — Joder — repeated several times. Slitting his eyes, he risked a glance toward the hay-wains, and his heart seemed to stop when lie saw the outlaw chieftain looking in his direction. He said some thing to one of the men, pointing at the boy. Rhun's throat constricted, for he knew he was watching his death trudge toward him. The outlaw's mask had slipped down, revealing a reddish- blond beard, a face fair-skinned and youthful. He held a cudgel at his side, almost as if he were trying to hide it. Coming to a halt, he loomed over Rhun, and the boy looked up helplessly, pleading with his eyes. The other outlaw shouted, sounding angry, and he hesitated, then raised the club.
Rhun gasped, flinching away from the weapon. He heard a whistling sound as it cut through the air, and then a thud, loud enough to rock his world. It took him a moment or so to realize that there had been no pain, that the club had struck the ground by his head. The outlaw dipped the club in the blood that had pooled at the base of the tree, then turned back to face the others, holding it aloft for them to see. The chieftain strode toward them, and Rhun held his breath, staring up blindly at the summer sky. But the man seemed satisfied, for he came no closer. Rhun bit his lip until he tasted blood in his mouth, not daring to move, barely daring to breathe. Soon after, he mercifully lost consciousness.
It was quiet after Rhun was done. Angharad took Rhun's hand again, squeezed gently. Justin exhaled his breath, very slowly, having gotten more than he'd bargained for, "Do you think you'll soon be able to travel, Rhun?"" he asked at last.
The boy hesitated. "I suppose so. Why?"
"If I can find you work, would you be willing to leave Rhuddlan Castle?"
Rhun's eyes widened. "Am I in as much danger as that?"
"I do not know," Justin said honestly, "but I think we'll both sleep better if you're sleeping elsewhere," and after a moment, Rhun nodded.
"Woe unto the mouse that has only one hole. I'd be much beholden to you, Master de Quincy, if you could find me another hole."
"I will," Justin said. "I promise you that I will, Rhun… this language they spoke, you could understand none of it, not even an occasional word?
"No, just that word I told you: Joder. I think it may have been a name."
"What about their leader? He spoke Welsh, but was he Welsh?"
Rhun thought about it. "No… his Welsh was very good. Much better than yours," he added, with a small smile. "But he was not Welsh. I am sure of that."
"Is there anything else you can tell me about these men? Anything at all?"
"No…" But Rhun did not sound certain, and after a pause, he said slowly, "It seemed to me that… that the foreigners were not that comfortable on horseback, not like the man in command. The one who ran me down… he ought to have splattered my brains out, but he swung his club too short. Does this help?"
"Yes," Justin said, after a long pause. "I think it might."
~*~
Dusk had fallen by the time Justin and Angharad began to walk across the bailey toward the keep. "So," she said, "are you keeping any more secrets from me, Iestyn?"
"One or two," he allowed. "I want to thank you for your help, Angharad. Not just for translating when I had need of it, but for persuading Rhun to talk to me."
"Do not make me regret it," she said softly. "Are you not going to ask for my silence?"
"Do I need to?"
"No. The only way I can protect Rhun is by keeping quiet. But you need to do more for him. Can you, Iestyn? Can you keep Rhun safe?"
"Yes," he said, "I think so." Who could better protect Rhun than the man who had the most to gain from Rhun's story?
"And can you stop Davydd from blaming Llewelyn ab Iorwerth for this crime?"
"That I do not know," he admitted. "There are answers I still need. But because of Rhun, at least I know now where to search for them."
"And where is that?"
"Chester," he said, with more confidence than he actually felt. "I think I'll find my answers in Chester."
Chapter 8
August 1193
Chester, England
On the following morning, Justin rode away from Rhuddlan Castle, and two days later, he was within sight of the walls of Chester. It had been an uneventful trip and a safe one, for William Fitz Alan had decided to depart with him, and he had a sizable escort. While Justin was glad that he need not worry about outlaws, he was soon weary of fending off the Shropshire sheriff's heavy-handed queries, and his spirits rose as the estuary's blue waters darkened with the mud, silt, and mire of the River Dee.
Entering the city from the south, they continued up Bridge Street until they reached the cross, where their paths diverged, to Justin's relief. Fitz Alan and his men headed on toward the abbey precincts of St Werburgh, and Justin turned off to find a cook shop. After eating, he rode back out of the city, because the Bishop of Chester's palace was located just beyond the town walls. He'd originally intended to seek out the Earl of Chester first, but with Fitz Alan on the loose in the city, he owed his father some advance warning.