Here Be Dragons - 1 (100 page)

door. But within moments he was back, glancing 'lrst at the stacked parchments and then at Llewelyn's scribe.
"It grows late, Papa, and Celyn looks tired. Can the letters not wait M the morrow?"
"Your concern for Celyn's well-being is commendable," Llewelyn ^'d dryly, but then he smiled at his son. "Very well, lad. That will be a11' Celyn."
'Shall I summon your squires, Papa?"
Llewelyn resisted the temptation to ask if Davydd wanted to keep §u by his bedside till he slept. "No, Davydd, that's not necessary. Go
* to the hall now, make sure that our guests are looked after."

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Gathering up the correspondence, the scribe made a discreet departure; those who served Llewelyn this spring had, of necessity, learned to be as prescient as soothsayers, as unobtrusive as shadows. Davydd paused in the doorway. "God grant you a restful night, Papa," he said and Llewelyn thought it might be for the best, after all, that Richard had come to his court. Mayhap Richard might be able to do what he could not, talk to the lad about Joanna. That Davydd had such a need, he well knew. A man might disavow a wanton, cheating wife. But a son could not be expected to disavow his mother.
Reaching for a flagon, Llewelyn poured himself a cup of malmsey. He drank slowly, rationing himself, for he was not such a fool as to think he could drown his dreams in wine. Picking up the cup, he crossed to the bed, lay down upon it fully clothed. The dreams had a numbing sameness, differing only in detail. Most often the dream did but reflect reality; he would walk into his bedchamber, unsuspecting, and find his wife with her young lover. More than once, though/ the dream took an even uglier turn, and he would enter the chamber while they were making love, naked bodies entwined together in his bed, so lost in their lust they did not perceive their danger until it was too late, until he had sword in hand. Sometimes he heeded Ednyved, took a more calculating, cold-blooded vengeance; sometimes Will died at once, there in the bedchamber. But not Joanna, for even in his dreams he could never bring himself to thrust the sword into her breast.
As harrowing as these dreams were, they were not as rending as the others, the dreams of days gone by, those that recreated his world before his discovery of
Joanna's infidelity. Like most dreams, they were an incongruous blend of the fanciful and the commonplace, dreams in which a man might get saddle sores from riding a unicorn. But in them all, Joanna was the one constant. Taking a bath, she'd splash him with soapy water, giggling like a little girl. Or she'd look up at him over a Welsh grammar lesson, grimace and vow she'd master his tongue if it took her a lifetime. She was there to welcome him home from war, and there beside him in the night, and the seductive lure of memory was such that he would awaken in drowsy arousal, reaching for her. And then he would remember.
Llewelyn took a deep swallow of malmsey. Upon his first night a Dolwyddelan, he'd been crossing the bailey, had come upon some of his soldiers squatting by the door of the great hall, passing a flask back an forth as they discussed his wife's betrayal, her lover's death. They ten* pered their abuse of Will de
Braose with a grudging acknowledgment o his gallows courage, but they spared
Joanna nothing, damned her language as coarse as it was colorful. When
Llewelyn stepped out or darkness, they scrambled to their feet, staring at him in stricken silen
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AH save one youngster, drunker than the res*.
not understand your forbearance, my lord. Yo»V blurfed out, ""I QN
must! So why have you not punished her as sK mUSt hate her now' 3"^°
Aooalled. his mnrp enhm- j__ *>e deserves?" v>u
Appalled, his more sober comrades m ^deserves?" sought to turn aside
Llewelyn's anger with a lT HaSte to ir>terve?n* cuse. Llewelyn looked at the boy, younger eve * °f aPology and e^
'*«, - ^>(- m^i^
,-ust;. Ljcwciyii iuuK.eu at me ooy, younger eve>~ "h-^gv ana e^ '
his muddled way to empathize with his lord's Davydd, trying i^~
be to make a scapegoat of this imprudent yout^3"1' H°W easy ft wo-uK." able and unjust. "I do not suffer fools gladly " U EaSy ^ Understa3i«^f ily for you, lad, I have more patience with d'ru S3id CUrtIy' "but ll*cl%" The soldiers did not press their luck; they scatt *lkards' Go sleeP it o^f.V"
But the boy's question stayed with Hewel?^'
Why had he not punished Joanna as she deserv^" m the days to corbie to

Llanfaes? Why had he made hers such a ca ? Why had he sent ^eV He'd done it for Davydd's sake. That was the o£nfortable confinememt^ answer. But was it the only answer? "vious answer, the e*syx
His last memory of Joanna had yet to fade- u eyes to bring it into sudden, sharp focus, to se had °nly to dose 1~lis the rumpled sheets, even the sweat trickling dcT ^ tan&Ied dar^ hair, hollow between her breasts. That woman he cc^" ^ thr°at/ into tple woman who'd taken a Norman lover, made hi Uld hate/ and did' fi^e frayed his trust, jeopardized
Davydd's successi * Iau8hin8stock, b«soldiers had jeered; who should be surprised^"' B1°°d W'U teU' thte showed herself to be a shameless wanton?
Harlo that J°hn'S daughter names. The woman who'd taken Will into his bej'
Whore' Hars*, ugly
But what of the seventeen-year-old girl wn deserved them all. birth to
Davydd? Or the woman who'd stood in ^ alm°St d'ed 8ivin^ with him to let her intercede with John? What chamber> pleading wrtsied to him that day at
Aberconwy, salvaging °f ** W°man who'cd kther for his sake? Did she, too, deserve to be call P"de' defyinS he:r
Llewelyn drained the last of the wine thre Sl"t? room, watched it shatter against the wall It'was W the CUP acr°ss the ne at once regretted.
Come morning, the servant^ 3Ct °f imPulse< one ^ clay shards upon the floor;
they would mak^ W°Uld find the bro' ean up the wreckage with impassive faces
And Tu"0 comment- would ^d- -miathey would not under-
one ^°0nedid-Mor§an had come the closest to co . A
'attempt at consolation, he'd counseled endur P e"dlng; in his
.' Llewelyn, time to grieve. Try to remember ^ "Give yourself evenf T" Tan8wystl and h°w you mourned uthat Pam doe« pass.
entually heal... and so will this " *er" But th* hurt did
^ unf ?!!? M°rgan C°uld understand that it was .U1 unfaithful wife; few others did. But he was w?°SSlble to Srieve for
0 wrong to equate Tang-

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wystl's death with Joanna's betrayal. This was a different sort of loss, and in its own way, more painful, for he'd lost more than Joanna, he'd lost their life together, too. In destroying their future, Joanna had also poisoned their past.
Closing his eyes, Llewelyn lay back against the pillow. But no man could ever fully master memory. The tides ran higher at night, and he found himself engulfed without warning, carried back in time to an October afternoon, to the cloistered silence of the White Ladies Priory. Joanna was standing again before him, disheveled, breathless, a russet leaf clinging to her hair, turning up to him a face streaked with tears.
Llewelyn gave a sudden, bitter laugh, for what greater irony could there be than this, that the one person able to understand exactly how he now felt should be Joanna, Joanna who'd cried out in such despair, "If he'd died, I'd still have had memories. But now even my memories are false. They do not comfort, they only torment. . ."
"RICHARD!" Joanna's book thudded to the floor; in three strides she was across the room, in her brother's arms. "How glad I am to see you, how very glad!" He did not return her embrace, merely patted her awkwardly on the shoulder, but he'd always been sparing with physical demonstrations of affection, and she reached up, kissed him on the cheek before stepping back to smile at him.
"I'm not sure what I expected, Joanna. But not this," he said, glancing about the bedchamber. "One might think you were still Princess of Gwynedd."
Joanna's smile vanished; his voice was very cold. "Would you rather have found me in a dungeon at Cricieth, Richard?"
"Of course not," he said impatiently. "But I cannot help marveling at
Llewelyn's leniency."
"You've seen him, talked to him? Tell me how he is, Richard. How does he?"
"How do you think he does? The man loved you, Joanna."
"I know," she whispered. "I know . . ."
"How could you do it? How could you shame yourself, shame your family like this? At first I thought it had to be some sort of macabre hoax! And if I
could not believe it, I would not even attempt to imagine wha
Llewelyn"
I've "Richard, enough! I do not need you to tell me of the pam caused those I love. I was there, I saw, and those are memories I''" to live with for the rest of my life. I do not deny that I have committe grievous sin, and I'll willingly answer for it to my husband, to my

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dren, to the King, and to God. But not to you, Richard. Least of all to you!"
"You do not think I've a right to be angry? Disappointed?"
"I do not think you've the right to pass judgment upon me. I think you forfeited that right when you refused to pass judgment upon John."
"What mean you by that, Joanna?"
"You knew, Richard. You knew about Arthur, about Maude de Braose and her son.
You saw the hangings. But you stood by John even then, even after watching those Welsh children die at Nottingham. So I do not think it is for you to judge me. Unless you can explain why adultery is a greater sin in your eyes than murder."
"I see it was a mistake for me to come."
"Mayhap it was," Joanna agreed, and he turned, walked out.
But no sooner had he gone than Joanna's anger was gone, too. She sat down upon the closest coffer, feeling weak, empty, and alone, utterly alone. Why had she sent Richard away? Who else did she have? Henry would be no less shocked than
Richard, no less judgmental. An unfaithful wife was a creature utterly beyond her Aunt Ela's ken. She was not close to her other brothers. Two of her three sisters were strangers to her, and Nell was but fourteen.
Even her dead would not have understood. Catherine had been her dearest friend, but Catherine had been Llewelyn's friend, too. Her grandmother?
Eleanor would have been indifferent to the immorality of her adultery, but would never have forgiven the stupidity of it. Her mother would have been horrified, with the peculiar intolerance of the onetime sinner. Her father?
Hating Llewelyn as he did, how could he not have been delighted by her infidelity? But her mockery went awry, for she knew better. John would not have forsaken her. The man who had murdered Maude de Braose was the same man who had loved her enough to forgive her any sin.
She had sent Glynis to gather gorse and wood sorrel, and she was grateful now to hear footsteps in the antechamber, grateful for Glynis's °Pportune return;
hers were not thoughts she cared to dwell upon. She r°se, moved toward the door. But it was not Glynis, it was Richard.
His smile was tentative, almost but not quite apologetic. "I would n°t have gotten so angry if there were not some truth in what you said, "it I was halfway to the ferry ere I would admit it to myself."
"You came back, Richard. That is what matters," Joanna said, and tos time their embrace was mutual, comforting and conciliatory. Draw-
'ng him down beside her upon the settle, Joanna entwined her fingers in s- "I will answer your questions as best I can. But first you must tell e if you spoke to Davydd, if he gave you any message for me."
He shook his head. "He's not yet able to talk about you, Joanna.

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Mayhap in time ..." He tightened his grip upon her hand. "How much have you been told? You do know Will de Braose has been hanged?"
"Yes/' she said, startling him by her matter-of-fact tone. If Sne could sound so indifferent to Will's fate, then all his assumptions had to be in error.
"I can offer no excuses, no explanations for my conduct, Richard. But there is this you must know. My liaison with Will was a brief one and long over. But
Will was not accustomed to a woman telling him no and meaning it, thought he would be welcome in my chambers. He was not." Richard was looking at her so strangely that she felt sudden dismay. "You do not believe me?"
"How could I have been so stupid? I actually believed you must have been beguiled by this man, had become so infatuated you'd lost all common sense.
Knowing you as I do, how could I have been so blind?" He rose to his feet, began to pace. "Why did I not see the truth ere this?"
"What are you talking about?"
"I think you know, Joanna. But if you'd have me elaborate upon the obvious, I
am willing. Where shall we begin? With Llewelyn? You love your husband, you truly do. You have a marriage that was tested in fire and found true, a marriage that by rights ought to have foundered years ago, and yet it not only survived, it somehow flourished. You're no fool; you well knew the consequences of a wife's infidelity, knew you risked divorce and disgrace, mayhap even death. You knew, too, that adultery is a mortal sin. Yet despite all that, you still decided to take the risk, to take a lover. And of all the men in Christendom, whom did you happen to choose? Surprise of surprises, none other than Maude de Braose's grandson! Need I say more?"
Joanna's protest was immediateand indignant. "What are you saying, that John's sins led me to sin in atonement? That is ridiculous, Richard. I am not responsible for my father's cruelties!"
"I know," he said. "I've been seeking to convince you of that for nigh on twenty years."
Joanna opened her mouth to argue, to insist he was wrong. Instead she surprised herself by saying, "I do think it was important to Will that I was
John's daughter. I think he found a perverse satisfaction in that. He learned to hate too young. But he had cause, Richard, more cause than you know ..."
She did not finish the sentence, said abruptly, "What of Henry? Does he know?"
Richard nodded. "He got word ere he sailed for St Male." He sat down beside her again. "I'll not lie to you, Joanna; it's better that you know. Sentiment is very much on Llewelyn's side, even in EnglandMen feel he was justified in acting as he did, that Will de Braose wel
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^served to die. More than eight hundred people g^ his execution, and not all of them Welsh. Will was to^ hered tO Wltness many bedchambers; even amongst his own family, U tim^r wlth to° have been much mourned." does not seem to
Joanna linked her fingers in her lap. She founcj now, not of the man who'd brought disaster upon u\herself thinking' Of the man who'd been her lover, but of the youngs* m both' nOt even her aid with boyish, good-natured gallantry, who'd j^r who'd CO1; to Llewelyn at fourteen. "To die alone and unloved/.Ut her in m of "What a sad fate..." she said softly-
Richard shrugged. "It is your fate that concerns ri) was none too sanguine ere today ... ere seeing this," i now' * a about the bedchamber. "But I am beginning to believe said' gestunn8 as I first thought." all is not as bleak
Joanna bowed her head. "Llewelyn says ... he . him, Richard." V I am dead to
"Yes, I know. But have you not noticed the sta*,, between what Llewelyn has said and what he has dox g disCrePancy to inflict further hurt, Joanna, but few men would t^? l do nOt mean wife as indulgently as he has so far treated you. I thi^at an unfaithful bodes well for the future. Whilst it is true that the £ his forbearance formally recognize adultery as grounds for divorce, Li
"urcn oes no no trouble in-" Wlyn will have