Daggerspell - Katharine Kerr [194]
All his honor, all his hard-won glory in the recent war, all the respect of the men who were once his vassals—gone, stripped away from him by one thoughtless act. No bard would ever sing about Rhodry Maelwaedd without reminding his audience that here was a lord who’d died on the end of a rope. As a hanged man he would even lack a proper grave among his ancestors. Without his honor, he was nothing, worth less than a bondman, not even a man at all. He bent all his will to the task, but he could not stop shaking. And what of Jill? At the thought of losing her this way, he wept, sobbing like a frightened child in the dark, until he realized that his tears were shaming him all the more. He unwrapped himself from his cramped position, wiped his face on his sleeve, then curled up again and went on shaking.
Rhodry had no idea of how long he’d sat there before he heard Cullyn’s voice at the window, a soft “my lord?” Hurriedly he stood up and peered out.
“Here! Over here.”
With a furtive look round Cullyn sidled up to the wall.
“I thank the gods I’ve found you. I’ve been whispering at every one of these cursed windows. The guards won’t let me in to talk with you.”
“No doubt they’re afraid you’ll murder them.”
“I was tempted, my lord. Here, Rhys has no intentions of hanging you. Nevyn and I went to plead for your life, and he said ever so sweetly that he’d never break your mother’s heart that way. He’s staged all this to humiliate you and naught more. All you have to do is beg his pardon in the malover, and he’ll forgive you.”
Rhodry grabbed the window bars so hard that his hands hurt.
“Don’t do anything stupid,” Cullyn snapped. “Give the bastard what he wants, and we’ll be on our way home.”
Clinging to the bars, Rhodry rocked back and forth, throwing his weight against them as if he would pull them out.
“Rhodry! Talk to me!”
Rhodry went on rocking, shaking, tossing his head back and forth. He wanted to answer Cullyn, but he seemed to have forgotten how to speak. He heard other voices, then, guards, yelling insults and orders. When he could at last make himself stand still, Cullyn was gone.
Rhodry sat down, but this time he sprawled out and leaned against the wall. Rhys’s little trick had broken something in him, he realized, made him see a part of himself that he’d never wanted to see but that now he would never forget. It would haunt him his whole life, the night he trembled like a terrified child instead of facing his death like a man. All at once he fell asleep where he sprawled. All night, he dreamt about Jill.
The guards woke him early and tossed him half a loaf of stale bread that he threw back in their faces. For over an hour he paced back and forth, barely thinking at all. At last the guards returned. They bound his hands behind his back with a leather thong and marched him out of the cell.
“Can’t I have some clean clothes? I stink from that straw.”
“His Grace said to bring you along straightaway.”
Of course, Rhodry thought to himself, of course. It was part of the humiliation, that he would have to kneel filthy and stinking at Rhys’s feet. As they crossed the great hall, men looked his way with a pity that hurt worse than scorn. Up and round the staircase, through the last door, and there was Rhys, sitting on the far side of the chamber of justice with the priests beside him and scribes in attendance. The crowd of onlookers moved aside to let the guards through. When they reached the table, one of the guards kicked Rhodry in the back of the knee and forced him to kneel. Rhys looked at him with a stranger’s eyes.
“We have before us a grave charge. This man drew cold steel upon a gwerbret in his own hall.”
“That offense is punishable by hanging,” said a priest.
The proceedings stopped to let a scribe scratch out the words. When Rhodry glanced around, he saw Jill standing off to one side, her arms folded across her chest. That she would see