Page 75 of King’s Knight

“I will bide here for a bit. Rory and Guy are keeping Alex company, each trying to beat him at chess. He claims I only defeated him because of his weakened condition.”

“Humph! Even he does not believe that. You are a fine chess player, Merewyn. Sir Alex has always been an arrogant young pup. And his handsome face keeps him so. To lose a game of chess to a beautiful young woman will keep him humble.”

Merewyn laughed. She did not think it was possible to keep Alex humble for long. “I thank you for the compliment, my lady. I will check on him before I seek my bed. He wants to leave on the morrow.”

“Whenever you think it prudent, my dear.” The countess pressed her palms on the table to assist her to stand. “ ’Tis late and I am not one for late nights.” Ermentrude bid Merewyn a good night and went to the stairs, ascending them slowly.

Merewyn picked up a candle from the table and wandered about the hall, retracing the path the countess had taken when she had shown Merewyn around the castle the day after they arrived.

Peeking into the alcoves behind the tapestries that adorned the castle’s main hall, Merewyn made her way around the cavernous room. The weavings displayed beautiful scenes of gardens and animals, likely reflecting the countess’ taste. They were so unlike those that hung in the king’s hall in London.

Each alcove was sparsely appointed with a small table and bench seats. One held two narrow beds.

As she neared the far corner of the hall, she spotted stairs leading down. She had not noticed them before as they were partially hidden by a wall that extended part way into the room.

On either side of the stairs were copper lanterns hung on sconces. In each lantern burned a small candle. Curious, she decided to see where the stairs led. Still holding her candle, she followed them down to the floor below where she encountered a corridor with many doors. Each door had an iron grate at the top that allowed one to look inside. Before she could look into the first one, she heard the sound of men’s voices ahead.

From a door halfway down the corridor came a gruff voice. “Have another cup of wine, Marcel. The castle’s asleep and the prisoner is locked away. Why should we stay sober all night guarding an old man in fetters?”

An old man in fetters? The King of Gwynedd?

“Well, mayhap just one more before I leave you to your watch. ’Twill be a cold night.”

She must hide! Holding her candle to the grate of the door closest to her and standing on her toes, she peered into the chamber. Sacks of grain and spices filled the room. The smell of cinnamon and cloves was distinct in the air. Quickly she tried the handle and it gave way. Blowing out the candle, she entered and crouched behind one sack, glad for the strong smell of spices that masked the smoke from her snuffed candle.

She waited until she heard the men’s heavy footfalls on the stone floor.

“I will see you to the hall as I must pay a trip to the privy before I stand watch for the next hours,” spoke the gruff voice.

“With all that wine in my belly, I will join you,” said Marcel.

Their voices faded as they ascended the stairs. She took her candle and left the small room. Continuing down the corridor, she found a large chamber some distance from the others. Peering through the grate, she glimpsed a man chained to the wall. Straw had been loosely strewn about the floor.

She no longer had the light of the candle, but the moonlight falling into what she realized was a prisoner’s cell revealed a man clothed in a frayed red tunic, chained to the wall. Tall, blond and bearded, he sat on a bench leaning against the stones, his eyes closed. He may have been sleeping, she could not tell.

“Are you Gruffydd ap Cynan?”

The prisoner opened his eyes. “I am.” He seemed to study her face for a moment. “Have you come to peer at the earl’s prisoner, my lady?”

“Nay, King of Gwynedd. Fi yw ffrind i ffrind. I come as the friend of a friend.”

He sat up, giving her his full attention. “And who might your friend be?”

“Iorwerth ap Bleddyn, My Lord, though I call him Rhodri.”

He struggled to rise from the bench, his chains rattled and he strained against them. In a tone that spoke of hope, he said, “He and his brother, Cadwgan, are my allies.”

“I know Cadwgan’s son, Owain.” She did not tell Gwynedd’s king that she had just sent Owain away, rejecting his suit.

“Are you their messenger? Are they here to free me?” the Welsh king inquired.

“Nay. I am alone but if I can, I will free you.” Trying the door, she found it locked, a bar across it held firmly in place. “The guard will soon return to his post. What can I do?”

“In the years I have been here,” the blond Welshman said, “I have heard the guards speak of keys kept on a hook behind a tapestry in the hall.”

“I will find them.” She started to go and he called her back. “Beware the guard and the earl’s men.”

“There is only one guard and he is in the privy. The earl and his men, or most of them, are away.”