Here Be Dragons - 1 (57 page)

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Gruffydd gave a low whistle. "Maelgwn must have thrown an apoplectic fit!"
Llewelyn nodded. "I cannot say John is his own worst enemy; the competition for that honor is too fierce! But he does have a decided tendency toward self-sabotage. He has always to push his advantage to the breaking point and then beyond. As a result, his victories, no matter how brilliant, are always ephemeral, of fleeting moment. Maelgwn and Rhys Gryg are no fools, soon realized that John means to claim as much of Wales as he can, their lands as well as mine. Whatever their other failings, they are not men to become puppets of the English crown. They besieged John's new castle at Aberystwyth, burned it to the ground. At the same time, John gave Robert de Vieuxpont a free hand in Lower Powys, so Gwenwynwyn, too, is growing restive. For months now, all of South Wales has been in turmoil, and I suspect John is worried lest I throw in with Maelgwn and Rhys Gryg. My guess is that he's sent for me to try to ferret out my intentions and, if need be, to use threats, even promises, to fetter me to the crown."
"And will he, Papa? Will he fetter you to the crown?"
"What do you mean, Gruffydd?"
"You say Maelgwn and Rhys Gryg are in rebellion, that South Wales is ablaze.
But not Gwynedd. It has been more than seven months since John took from you the Perfeddwlad. Passive acceptance is not like you, Papa. You have stayed your hand because of me, have you not?"
"Yes."
"You cannot do that, Papa. The longer you allow John to hold the Perfeddwlad, the harder it will become to dislodge him. You cannot give him the time he needs to entrench himselfnot without losing our lands forever."
"That is what I want to talk with you about, Gruffydd." Llewelyn rose, began to pace. "What we feared is coming to pass. John is refortifying in stone those timbered castles he erected last summer. His men patrol the roads, the passes, cross the Conwy into my domains at will, as if seeking to provoke a confrontation. And he is planning to bring in English merchants and their families, to charter towns as the Normans did in South Wales." He swung around to face Gruffydd, said with sudden passion, "The Normans would never have been able to steal so much of Deheubarth if not for towns like Swansea, Pembroke, Fishguard, Tenby. They are towns on Welsh soil, but no Welshman may become a citizen, or bear arms whilst in the town, or sit on a jury in an^ lawsuit between a Norman and one of Welsh blood. The Welsh in much of South Wales are intruders in their own land. But I'll not let that happen in Gwynedd. Christ forgive me, Gruffydd, I cannot!"
Gruffydd swallowed with some difficulty. In arguing that Llewely

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must try to reclaim the Perfeddwlad, he'd spoken from the heart he truly believed every word he'd uttered. But it was no less true that he had not expected his father to agree with him. Now he found himself approving what
Llewelyn meant to do, while at the same time feeling a shocked sense of betrayal that his father would put anything, even Gwynedd's sovereignty, above his own safety. He'd have been put on the rack, though, before he would have admitted it, and he made an enormous effort, said as calmly as he could, "I
suppose, then, that we should think upon what I might expect from John. I know he has not harmed Maelgwn's elder son; Madoc is still at court. What of the younger son? Was he made to suffer in any way for Maelgwn's rebellion?"
"No, the lad is quite safe in Shrewsbury."
"Well, that is reassuring." Gruffydd managed a smile, but he had to ask. "Papa
. . . has John ever harmed a hostage?"
"No, Gruffydd, he has not. Not even when Hugh de Lusignan offered up hostages for his freedom after Mirebeau, only to betray John within days of his release." Llewelyn moved back to the settle, sat down beside the boy. "John is utterly without mercy to those who have offended him, but he has never avenged himself upon the innocent. His quarrel is with me, and it is with me that he'll settle it, not you, lad."
Gruffydd was showing more courage, more maturity than Llewelyn had dared hope for; he was making it almost too easy. Llewelyn had never been so proud of his son, or so aware of his own failings as a father.
"Gruffydd, I want only the best for you. But I'd not blame you if you did not believe me, lad." He hesitated, then said, "I've done a great deal of thinking these months past, found out things about myself that I'd rather not have known. I wish I could say that nothing mattered to me but those I love. I
cannot."
Gruffydd was not sure what response was expected of him; he could not recall ever talking with his father about intangibles or imponderables, about emotions and doubts, secrets of the heart. "I know you love me, Papa," he mumbled, and flushed.
"Yes, I do. I loved your mother, too, lad. I loved her very much. But could not allow myself to marry her, for there'd be no political advanage to the marriage; Gwynedd would have gained nothing from such a match. I was willing to wed Joanna, though, to take her sight unseen, to yoke myself for life to a woman I might find both undesirable and un-
1 able, because she was the King of England's daughter, brought me , at
Tangwystl could not, a border castle and a political alliance with the English crown."
Gruffydd was silent for some moments. "You're saying, Papa, that °u ve always put Gwynedd first. I understand that, in truth I do. You

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see, that is the way I feel, too. There is nothing I would not do, nothing i would not give up if only you'd name me as your heir."
Gruffydd's words had come without calculation. His was an un complicated, elemental nature, one not attuned to subtleties, still less to subterfuge. But the expression on his father's face was a revelation to him. He suddenly realized that Llewelyn's decision to break faith with John could work to his advantage and Davydd's disadvantage, that he would have a powerful claim indeed upon his father's conscience, that his would be a wrong much in need of redress.
"No man could have a son with greater courage, Gruffydd," Llewelyn said softly.
"It means much to me that you think so, Papa. But what I need to know now means even more. Did you forget my birthday again?"
Llewelyn grinned. "Brace yourself, lad. This time I remembered!"
They both laughed. Neither mentioned what Llewelyn's decision could meanyears of confinement for Gruffyddthe boy because he did not fully comprehend the risks, and the man because he'd managed to rationalize those risks, to convince himself that John's past generosity toward the innocent and the unoffending was an adequate guarantee for his son's safety.
JOANNA crossed the crowded hall, slipped her arm through Llewelyn's. "Papa wants to talk to you, love." She hesitated, then murmured, "He does seem to be trying, Llewelyn. It's not so impossible to believe, is it, that he might truly want peace?"
"John's peace is rather like the peace of Godin that it passeth all understanding." But there had been so little conviction in Joanna's voice, so much wistfulness, that Llewelyn added, "I will admit he's made this visit far more tolerable than I expected."
John beckoned them up onto the dais, gestured for a page to serve them wine.
For several moments they made desultory conversation, bland in form and banal in substance. But then John directed his attention solely to Llewelyn.
"A strange rumor has reached my ears, that a papal nuncio has been traveling in Wales, that he was, in fact, received at your court, should like you to tell me if this be true and, if so, the purpose of tha visit."
So that was why he was in Cantebrigge this Easter Sunday! Uewe lyn smiled, said with complete sincerity, "I should be right pleased to so, Your Grace. I
fear His Holiness the Pope is losing patience. You ' spurn his last offer to compromise your differences, did you not.

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t mistaken, you even went so far as to promise to hang Stephen Langn should he set foot on English soil or words to that effect "
"Those very words exactly," John said coldly "But we were not Ikmg of the Pope and myself We were talking of you and the papal uncio What did he want from you?"
By now the hall was quieting, people were drifting toward the dais Llewelyn pitched his voice for their growing audience, said, "The Pope has lifted the
Interdict from Wales He has also absolved all the Welsh Princes from their oaths of allegiance to you, my liege, and urges us to ioin together in a holy crusade to depose you, claiming you to be a man beyond God's grace, no longer deserving to wear the crown of a Christian King "
John's war of wills with the Pope had been dragging on for four years, but the
Pope had just dramatically and dangerously raised the stakes John caught his breath He would not give Llewelyn or the others the satisfaction of seeing that he was shaken, though, and he summoned up a taut, derisive smile
"Tell me," he challenged, "do you, as a good son of the Church, mean to follow the Pope's directive7"
Llewelyn was enjoying himself "If I were truly such a good son of the Church, I would not be here at Cantebngge, at your court Your Grace is excommunicate, after all, and a man excommunicated is to be shunned by all Christians, to be treated as an Ishmael, as one facing eternal damnation "
There was a strained silence Joanna gave Llewelyn a look that was half resentful, half reproachful, and leaned over John's chair, whispering something meant for his ears alone Llewelyn glanced around the hall, saw on other faces confirmation of his own belief, that he'd taken the honors in that exchange
With those whom he knew well, Llewelyn could sometimes cornmunicate without need of words, most often with Joanna, occasionally with Ednyved But he experienced now just such a moment of shared, silent understanding with a virtual stranger His eyes happened to catch tustace de Vesci's, for several seconds the two men looked at one another, and in that brief span they reached an unspoken accord, one to be explored further at a more opportune time
There was a sudden commotion at the end of the hall Llewelyn rned, saw an extraordinary apparition stumbling through the door-
l ay ^e was uncommonly tall, so gaunt he looked almost skeletal, clad long, ragged gown of unbleached sacking, his feet grimy and bare, , air drifting about his shoulders like dirty, windblown snow, his cal th W'^ anc^ un^emPt But although he'd obviously reached his bibh-
reescore years and ten, his face was curiously unhned, untouched

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by time, and his eyes, a startling shade of blue, were utterly with0
guile.
Joanna turned toward her father. "Whoever is that strange 0lH
man?"
"A crazed hermit who has been wandering about Yorkshire f0 some weeks, prophesying my death. When reports first reached rne i did not pay them any mind. If I concerned myself with every lunati roaming about the countryside, I'd have time for little else. But this IDnatic," John said dryly, "is beginning to attract crowds."
The old man seemed bewildered by his surroundings. He had to be shoved forward by his guards, and when he reached the dais, he stood there, blinking, until one of the men put a hand on his shoulder, directed him to kneel.
John leaned forward. "Are you the one they call Peter of Wakefield?"
"Yes, lord." He did not sound frightened, just confused. He squatted back on his heels, waited patiently for John's will to be revealed.
"I was told you've been preaching that I'm to lose my crown by Ascension Day.
Is that true?"
"No, lord!" The astonishing blue eyes opened wide. "Not this Ascension Day, lord. The Ascension Day next to come."
John gave an abrupt, incredulous laugh, one that did not sound very amused.
"God tells you this, I suppose?" he said sarcastically, and the hermit nodded.
"Yes, lord," he said, so calmly that John lost all patience.
"Who put you up to this, old man? Who's paying you?"
Peter blinked. "No one, lord. I am an instrument of the Almighty. He has given me second sight."
There was something unexpectedly compelling in the utter simplicity of that statement. People murmured among themselves; a few surreptitiously made the sign of the cross. Llewelyn had less than the normal amount of superstition in his makeup, but even he was affected by the old man's composure, by his eerie certainty, and he was suddenly glad that the hermit's prophecy was not directed at him. He glanced curiously over at John, but the latter looked more angry than uneasy.
"You try my patience, old man, in truth you do. Go back to Wake field, keep your foolish babblings to yourself, and I'll overlook the trou ble you've caused me. But you'd best not expect me to be so lenien second time." , "I am sorry, lord; I do not mean to displease you. But I canno that. My visions are not my own. They come from Almighty Godhas chosen me to spread His word, and I cannot fail Him."
The hall was very still. John stared balefully at the elderly hermit, habby ar>d emaciated and perplexingly tranquil; he met John's eyes ujte placidly, as if his own fate was a matter of utter indifference to h'm He did not flinch, did not react at all as John said grimly, "As you rjll old man." He gestured to the waiting guards. "Take this 'prophet f God' to Corfe Castle, confine him there until Ascension Day of next year."
They seized the hermit, dragged him to his feet. He offered no resistance. "I
shall pray for you, lord, when your time is nigh."
John looked about the hall, saw he was suddenly the object of morbid speculation. He did not doubt that many among them would lay grisly wagers on this madman's prophecy, that they'd count the days till Ascensiontide, 1213, with unholy glee. Few faces showed any sympathy; far more showed covert, cautious amusement. His son-in-law alone was making no attempt to hide his mirth, was openly grinning. John stared at Llewelyn, and for a long moment his brother Will's life hung in the balance.
"He amuses you, this pitiful lunatic?"

"Actually," Llewelyn said coolly, "I found him to be surprisingly convincing, found myself wondering if he might, indeed, be one of God's chosen."
Joanna was close enough to hear her father's sharp inhalation of breath. She put her hand imploringly upon his arm, but he shook it off, keeping his eyes on Llewelyn.
"Sooner or later," he said, very softly, "you will make a misstep. And when you do, Christ Jesus Himself shall pity your fate."
JOANNA knelt, hugged in turn her four-year-old half-brother Henry, three-year-old Richard, and her namesake and half-sister Joanna, who was not yet two. None of them had their father's dark coloring; Henry and Richard were redheads like their grandfather, and little Joanna had inherited Isabelle's blondeness. They accepted Joanna's kisses shyly, for sw was a stranger to them, then approached the bed to receive goodm§ht kisses from their mother.
Isabelle smiled fondly, ruffled Henry's untidy, bright hair, forbore
0 scold when her daughter left a dirty little handprint upon the skirt of r gown. But after a few moments, she signaled to the nurses, and the dren were shepherded from the chamber.
^ 'he sight of them, the feel and smell of their sturdy little bodies, si ^red up Joanna's longing for her own children. Never before had a separated from
Davydd and Elen for more than a few days, she did not understand how Isabelle could be content to see her