Here Be Dragons - 1 (101 page)

"Welsh law does provide for dissolving a marriag. husband's infidelity,"
Joanna interrupted, and de^ uPon a W e °r a could not help remembering the night Llewelyn had flte herself' she night they'd first shared a bed as man and wife. °ld her that' the
"A husband's infidelity, too?" Richard echoed, s. most allowed himself to be sidetracked. But the oddjt.surPris legal system would have to wait. "Joanna, listen. I' les of the Welsh much thought. As I see it, Llewelyn has three choice^ e been glvlng U can continue to keep you here, at Llanfaes. He can corr, °pen to nunnery. Or he can banish you from his domains. )^1 you to ^nter a select the second alternative. You're something of ai)exPected hlm to you know . . . both to the Welsh and to the English embarrassment, embarrassment would fade more quickly from men and a clolste^ed now that I've seen your confinement, I think we migh^ memories- But for the best, that he might agree to your return to Eng| reas°nab y pe
"Mayhap he might. I do not know, Richard. Nor . Joanna confessed, and Richard smiled. ° l muc care'
"Not now, no. But even the most benign captivity .
tivity. You need only think of our cousin, Eleanor of hls sti11 that/ cap"
fittany, comfort-

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ably kept at Bristol and Corfe castles for nigh on thirty years. In time y0ll will care, Joanna, you'll care passionately."
Joanna said nothing, and he reached out, patted her hand "y0u must be patient, though. It would be disastrous to pressure Llewelyn now. We can only wait, first for the divorce and then for his decision But Henry will not forsake you. You're family, and that matters more to Henry than scandal. I do believe that eventually you will be set at liberty, and once that happens, you'll have a home with my wife and me, a home at Chilham Castle."
"Thank you, Richard," Joanna said, because it was expected of her. But his offer seemed no more real than did the future he envisioned for her. Rising, she moved to the table, opened a small casket.
"I've written letters to Elen and Davydd, to Henry and Nell. Will you take them, Richard? Will you engage couriers for me?"
"Of course. And I shall write to Llewelyn on your behalf, ask him if you cannot be allowed to leave these rooms occasionally. I think he might agree, if only for Davydd's sake."
"I would like that," Joanna admitted, "to be able to walk on the beach." She hesitated, reluctant to make a request that might be misconstrued. "There is one thing more you can do for me, Richard. I would like to have Masses said for Will, for the repose of his soul." And when he made no comment, but merely nodded, she sighed, said quietly, "I cannot mourn him. I'm not even sure I can forgive him. But at least I can pray for him."
14
LLANFAES, NORTH WALES
June 1250
IAJCHARD read Llewelyn correctly, and an order did arrive in due course, allowing Joanna the freedom of the manor compound and the nearby beach. Her guards objected to this new duty in vain, protesting that they felt foolish trailing after a lone woman and

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an agin§ spaniel. Lady Joanna could not swim; did Bran fear she could ,valk on water? But Bran remained adamant. Would any of them want to face their lord if she disappeared? Or if harm befell her? For so baffled yyere they about what their duties actually were, uncertain whether they were gaolers or bodyguards.
It was a warm Sunday in late June, too warm for walking, and when Joanna came upon the debris of an ancient wreck, she sat down upon a salt-encrusted spar.
The guard following at a discreet distance stretched out on the sand, began to doze. So, too, did Joanna's spaniel.
Joanna spent many hours like this, gazing across the strait toward Aber. She knew Llewelyn was no longer there, so even this last tenuous link had been sundered, but she found herself drawn to the beach nonetheless. It was an uncommonly clear day; the wind was still and the Eryri Mountains had shed their cloud haloes. She was able to recognize individual peaks, Llewelyn's lessons in geography having at last taken effect, and she realized suddenly how much she would miss these familiar soaring silhouettes, miss the stark splendors of her husband's realm. "You were right, love," she whispered. "You always said I'd come in time to see the grandeur of your homeland . . ."
Topaz had begun to bark. From the corner of her eye, Joanna glimpsed a woman crossing the sand. "Hush, girl," she soothed. "'Tis only Glynis." But the dog knew better, was already capering about in eager welcome. Joanna turned and her heart skipped a beat, then began to race. Flustered and not a little fearful, she stood very still, watching as her daughter walked toward her.
This was the confrontation she'd most dreaded. Davydd might in time forgive her, but Elen? They'd been too often at odds, never quite connecting, theirs an erratic sort of intimacy, one with boundaries, self-imposed constraints, vast areas left uncharted, unexplored by mutual consent. What could she say to
Elen now? How could she expect Elen to understand?
"Well, I will say this for you, Mama. No half measures; when you decide to come down off your pedestal, you do so with a vengeance."
The words were tart, but surprisingly the tone was not; it was more rueful than reproachful, almost whimsical. Joanna stared at her unpredictable daughter, saying at last, "I am glad you've come, Elen."
"I would have come sooner, but John and I had gone north from Edinburgh, were doubtlessly the last to know." Elen glanced over at the sleeping soldier before sitting down upon the sea-warped driftwood. 'Your guard is out of hearing range. Sit with me, Mama, so we can talk."
"Did you get my letter?" Joanna asked, sighing with relief when Elen nodded.
"Yes, it finally caught up with me, and just in time. Papa's letter had

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been sparing of details, and I was well nigh going mad, trying to env' sion circumstances under which you'd have taken a lover into Papa' bedchamber. I
could only conclude you were sore crazed with love, ann yet you'd showed no symptoms of it at Shrewsbury. When your letter came, I could only wonder why
I'd not guessed the truth. That was so very like Will, after all."
Elen finally paused for breath. "All this did clear up one mystery f0r me, though. Will was notorious for his roving eye, and yet with me he was always quite circumspect, could not have been more respectful had I been a nun. At least now I know why!"
"Elen ... I will never understand you. How can you jest?"
"I guess . . . guess because I'm nervous. I just did not know what to say to you." Elen mustered a wan smile. "You will admit, Mama, that my lessons in the social graces never covered a situation quite like ours."
She did not wait for Joanna's response, leaned forward and touched her mother's hand. "I do have some good news for you. I asked Papa if the priest from St Catherine's could say weekly Mass at the manor, and he agreed. Mama .
. . does that not please you? Why do you look at me so strangely?"
"I... I never expected sympathy, Elen."
Elen withdrew her hand. "Why not? Why should you think I'd be less understanding than Davydd?"
"Davydd does not understand, darling. I can only hope that he will in time, as
I'd hoped you might. But I would not have blamed you for being bitter. We've so often been at cross purposes, and I know ... I know how much you love your father."
"Yes, I do. I love Papa dearly. But what would you have me do, Mama? Disavow you because you made a mistake? Would that change anything? Would it make
Papa's hurt any the less?"
"A mistake," Joanna echoed, dismayed. Had Elen so misconstrued her letter?
"Elen, I thought you understood. I was unfaithful to your father."
"Yes, Mama, I know. You broke your marriage vows. But a few afternoons in an abandoned hafod do not make you the whore of Babylon. You sinned and then were sorry. I daresay the same can be said of Papa. Papa is a remarkable man, in truth, but he wears a crown, not a halo. Surely you know he has been unfaithful to you?"
Joanna was both disconcerted and defensive. "Yes ... I know. But when I
compared my lot with that of most wives, I had no cause for complaint.
Llewelyn never kept a mistress at court; he even put aside Cristyn for me.
Whilst we never discussed it, I knew he did bed with
-jjier women, but only when I was not available, only when we'd been long apart."
"As when he was waging war in Ceri?"
"Elen, I do not see the point of this. What would you have me say? Qf course I
would rather Llewelyn shared no bed but mine. But I could n0t realistically expect him to abstain for weeks at a time."
"You did."
"Why are you being so perverse? You cannot equate Llewelyn's occasional lapses with my adultery. Infidelity is a greater sin for a woman; so it has always been."
"Yes, so men keep telling us," Elen said dryly, and Joanna found herself staring at her daughter as if at a stranger.
"I once told my father that blood breeds true," she said slowly. "I spoke greater truth than I knew, for none could ever doubt you are Eleanor of
Aquitaine's great-granddaughter. It frightens me to hear you talk like this, for I do not think you realize the danger in it. Elen . . . Elen, you've never
. . . ?" She let the sentence trail off, and Elen gave her a smile of gentle mockery.
"You ought not to ask a question, Mama, unless you are sure you truly want to

know the answer."
"Oh, Elen, no . . ." Joanna whispered, sounding so horrified that Elen flushed, sprang to her feet.
"What are you going to do, Mama? Lecture me on morality? I should think that would be rather droll, coming from you!"
Joanna, too, was on her feet now. "Elen, you must listen to me. I am not passing judgment upon you, ask only that you hear me out. Walk toward the water with me, so we may be sure we cannot be overheard. Please, darling, you do not know what you risk!"
Elen hesitated. "Very well, Mama. But I'll hear no sermons from you!"
"I said I was not judging you. I want only to ask you a question. Mine could have been a far different fate. But your father has shown me remarkable leniency. Why do you think that is, Elen?"
This was not the question Elen was expecting. "I ... I suppose he did it for us, for Davydd and me. And then, he did love you. Mayhap he finds it hard to hurt you, even now . . ."
Joanna flinched, but then she nodded. "You are right. But I think there is yet another reason for his restraint. I think his response might have been different had he not been Welsh."
Elen came to an abrupt halt. "I do not understand. Welsh law holds adultery to be a grave sin indeed. So why . . ."
"Because the Welsh look upon women in a different light. A Welsh-

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man does not think of his wife as his property; she has rights of he own. But a Norman wife does not, and that makes her betrayal all the more unforgivable in her husband's eyes. Elen, I know of what I speak for I am Norman-French born and bred; their ways are mine. I know no Norman lord capable of treating an unfaithful wife as Llewelyn has so far treated me, not even the men of my own family. My darling, your husband is a good man, but he does not share your heritage, and you must ever bear that in mind. Promise me that, Elen, promise me you'll not forget."
Elen's resentment had ebbed away as Joanna spoke. "You've no cause for fear, Mama. That question you almost asked? The answer is no, I have not."
Joanna looked into her daughter's beautiful brown eyes, eyes that held hers quite candidly, and realized she had no way of knowing whether Elen spoke the truth. Even if she had, what of tomorrow? Elen was entrapped in an unhappy marriage, a barren marriage. How long would it be ere she sought satisfaction elsewhere, ere that rebellious spirit led her astray?
"Ah, Elen . . ." Her voice wavered. "How could we have meant so well and done so wrong? I truly thought you could learn to love John the Scot, but I should have known, should have seen . . ."
"I no longer blame you, Mama." Elen stooped to pick up a cockle shell. "None of us is given a warranty of happiness, not in this life. Even if I'd wed another man, who's to say we'd have found contentment together? Sometimes even love is not enough. After all, you loved Papa, and where did it get you?"
"To Llanfaes," Joanna said tonelessly, and Elen dropped the shell, moved to close the space between them.
"Mama, I'm sorry! I do not know why I said that. Why must my accursed tongue inflict wounds I never mean?"
"It does not matter, Elen . . . truly."
"But it does! I swore to myself that this time I would not do it, that I'd say nothing hurtful or harsh." Elen turned her back, stood staring out over the water. When she spoke again, her voice was indistinct, pitched very low. "But
I've sworn that before, only to hear myself provoking yet another quarrel with you, stirring up strife betwixt us . . ."
"Why?" Joanna reached out, touched her daughter's arm. "Why, Elen?"
"I would that I knew! Frustration, resentment, mayhap sheer perversity. You do not bring out the best in me, Mama. But then I hardly need tell you that, do
I? I've always been a disappointment to you, as far back as I can remember"
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"Darling, that's not so! Elen, I love you, I do!" Elen kept her eyes stubbornly set upon the distant mountains, but her lashes were wet, tangled.
"That may be so, Mama, but you do not approve of me. I used to wonder how
Davydd did it, how he knew so unerringly just how to please you, for I ... I
never did, you see. I did try, though. You may not believe that, but I did
"I was about seven the first time I realized you were not like the mothers of my friends. Your father had freed some of Papa's hostages, merely because you asked it of him. People were so joyful, so grateful, and I was so proud of you. I wanted to be a great lady, too . . . just like you. And as I grew older, I watched as you acted for Papa at the English court, I saw how much
Papa loved you, and 1 tried to be what you wanted, to be like you. But you were so controlled, so serene, so sure of yourself, and I... I was none of those things, Mama. In truth, I was not in the least like you, at best could only hope to become an imperfect copy of a perfect original, and that seemed rather pointless to me, even at fourteen. And so I stopped trying to gain your approval. Only I... I could not stop wanting it."
Elen had not intended to reveal so much and she forced an abrupt, self-conscious laugh. "I did not mean to babble on like this. I guess I've been like a bottle corked too long. One inadvertent touch, and the contents spew out in a great gush. Let that be a lesson to you, Mama. There are few