Here Be Dragons - 1 (22 page)

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That did interest Baldwin. So, too, did the countryside once th» were across the River Conwy. It was far more mountainous now; on a! sides the sky was silhouetted by snow-capped crags. Baldwin was in, pressed in spite of himself, forbore to mock as Stephen shared tK knowledge gleaned from their guides.
"They say snow is sometim^ found all summer long upon the highest peaks. The steepest is that on to the south, Yr Wyddfa. And over to your right is Moel
Siabod, whic), all but overshadows Dolwyddelan."
"Little wonder the Welsh are so hard to dislodge," Baldwin said and shook his head. "Their whole wretched country is a fortress of sorts!"
They reached Dolwyddelan Castle at dusk. It appeared without warning, seemed to spring suddenly from the rough-hewn rocks overlooking the River Lledr.
Baldwin, appraising it from habit, with an eye to assault, saw at once that it would be no easy prize for the taking. On the south, the ground fell away sharply, and deep ditches had been cut into the rock to the west and east. But what impressed Baldwin was the high curtain wall. Most castles were enclosed by timber palisades, but Dolwyddelan was encircled by stone.
Stephen, too, was regarding the curtain wall with surprise. "When last I was here, that was a wooden enclosure."
"He's doing right well for himself if he could undertake an expense like that," Baldwin said thoughtfully, and Stephen frowned.
"He's not just another Marcher border lord, Baldwin. He's Prince of Gwynedd.
Power is power, be it Welsh or Norman; you'd best bear that in mind."
Passing through a gateway in the north wall, they dismounted in the bailey.
Baldwin's eyes catalogued the wooden buildings clustered along the walls, focused upon the two-story rectangular keep, its entrance protected by a wooden forebuilding. He noted with satisfaction that the stairs leading up into the forebuilding were of stone; a miscalculation for certes. But as he reached the top, he abruptly revised his opinion of the keep's defenses. A
wide pit lay between the stairs and the door of the keep, a gap that could be spanned only by drawbridge.
"Clever," he murmured to Stephen. But his brother was already hastening across the drawbridge, utterly sure of his welcome within. Following more slowly, Baldwin discovered that the entire first floor of the keep contained one large chamber. By the hearth, his brother was kneeling. As Baldwin watched, Llewelyn raised Stephen to his feet, and the two men then embraced. Stephen turned, gave Baldwin a smile shot through with triumph.
his
N leaned back in the window seat, only half listening to his l° , conversation with Llewelyn. He was more interested in his
BAL /s conversation with Llewelyn. He was more interested in his kf°
undings than in Stephen's boyhood reminiscences, and he glanced
5^ -,i- C-~*r\^\\r ^iirioiic p\rpc Thpv wprp in T IpiA/plvn'c hpHrhamflpr1 a with frankly curious eyes. They were in Llewelyn's bedchamber; a kf° undings than in Stephen's boyhood reminiscences, and he glanced
SUfr t with frankly curious eyes. They were in Llewelyn's bedchamber; a curtained bed stood at the far end of the room. The furnishings killed Baldwin, in that they were so familiar: rushes for the floor, a
5 tie table, coffers, even a privy chamber tucked away into the thick-
of the southeast wall. He could, Baldwin mused in surprise, quite jlv have been in the bedchamber of any Norman lord.
He did not realize how nakedly his thoughts showed upon his face ntil Llewelyn looked at him, said, "Did you think to find us living in caves?"
Although said with a smile, it carried a sting nonetheless, and Baldwin flushed. He was honest enough, however, to acknowledge he'd been fairly caught, and he summoned up a smile of his own. "To tell you true, my lord, I
knew naught of how the Welsh do live."
"We have our own ways, but we are not too proud to learn from others."

Llewelyn grinned, gestured toward the bed. "Take yon feather bed. That is one
Norman custom I'm quite willing to adopt for Wales."
"Papa even sleeps on a pillow," a voice said, right at Baldwin's elbow, and he jumped, turned to find himself under the unblinking scrutiny of a small boy.
He looked to be about five, an unusually handsome youngster with dark red hair, wide-set green eyes, and a rather remarkable assurance for his years, volunteering now without waiting to be asked, "I'm Gruffydd ap Llewelyn."
Llewelyn laughed. "My son Gruffydd, who does delight in giving away all my guilty secrets!"
Gruffydd thrived upon attention, and he moved closer to Baldwin, confiding, "Papa has two pillows. But he lets my mama use one."
Baldwin was not comfortable with children. "Does he indeed?" he said lamely.
Adding, since the boy was obviously cherished, "You speak French very well, lad."
"I know," Gruffydd said. "Are you English? Do you know what Papa says of the
English? He says, 'Poor Wales, so far from Heaven, so dose to England!'"
"Gruffydd!" Llewelyn frowned, sought without success to look disapproving.
"Where are your manners, lad?"
Not in the least amused, Baldwin managed a thin smile. Stephen, who was amused, diplomatically piloted the conversation toward safer waters, saying swiftly, "How is your lady? She's not here with you, I take it?"
"No, she's at Aberffraw. Her babe is due next month . . . our

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fourth." A man now leaned over Llewelyn's chair, murmured a f^ words, and he rose.
"Alun will escort you to the great hall, where our cooks have set out a meal for you. I'll join you directly I put this hellion to bed." Gruffyd

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ally- "Why?" he blurted out. "Why should you risk John's enmity for us''
Llewelyn looked amused. "Scriptures set forth Commandments for
11 Christians to honor. But my people honor other commandments, too, u se that speak to the difficulties of dwelling in England's shadow. Let t an enemy be thy neighbor. It is no deceit to deceive a deceiver. And the enemy of my enemy is my friend."
Baldwin nodded slowly. "So you see John, then, as your enemy?" Llewelyn smiled. "I said that?" Reaching over, he clinked his cup against Stephen's.
"Croeso i Gymru, Steffan. Welcome, Stephen, to Wales."
THE man seated at Baldwin's left had been introduced to him as Rhys ap Cadell, but he seemed little inclined to polite conversation. The man on his right was
Gwyn ab Ednywain, Llewelyn's Seneschal; he was friendly enough, but at the moment was concentrating all his attentions upon the food being ladled from chafing dishes: venison baked in coffyn pies; boiled pears flavored with honey, dates, and cinnamon; oatcakes; roast heron. It was, Baldwin acknowledged, a meal fit to grace any Norman table. He was beginning to think his stay in Wales would not be so great a hardship after all.
He glanced around the hall with interest. Except that it was a ground-floor structure, it looked exactly like any Norman hall: three parallel rows of wooden pillars, the side aisles occupied by beds and partitioned off by screens. He and Stephen had slept here last night, as comfortably as ever they had in Fulk's Alberbury Castle, had been given places of honor near the hearth.
Llywarch, Llewelyn's court bard, now moved toward the center aisle, carrying a small harp. The hall quieted at once. Men laid down their knives and spoons to listen as he began a haunting ballad, not a word of which Baldwin understood.
He was rather surprised that Llywarch had so much standing at Llewelyn's court, being treated by all as a man of importance. Bards and minstrels enjoyed no such privileged status in England. There was much that Baldwin found odd in Llewelyn's world, but gratitude was proving stronger than bias, and he was determined to adapt as best he could. When the song ended, conversa"°n resumed again, and he leaned forward with interest when he heard tephen say, "You expect war with your cousin, Meredydd ap Cynan, my lord
Llewelyn?"
'It may well come to that. When my cousin GruffyddMeredydd's "otherdid die last year of a wasting fever, I laid claim to his lands. As at gave me most of
Gwynedd above the Conwy and all of Gwynedd

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below the Conwy, Meredydd took it amiss, and there's been naught bi discord between us for months now."
Llewelyn did not sound particularly grieved about this, and Balj win smothered a smile with his napkin. He did not know Meredydd ao Cynan, but he had a strong suspicion that, having snapped at the bait Meredydd was about to bite down upon the hook.
Llewelyn drained his wine cup. "I was sorry to hear of your lor(j father's death, Stephen."
"Thank you, my lord. His death was a tragedy twice over for us, as Walter is now laying claim to my father's estates, lands that should by rights have passed to Baldwin."
"I see. Baldwin is under attainder, so Walter moves in for the kill."
Stephen nodded glumly. "And there is little we can do to stop him."
"Mayhap not. But I rather think I can. Shall I?"
"You mean that? Jesu, we'd be ever in your debt! Baldwin, did you hear?"
Baldwin did not share Stephen's excitement. "That would be very kind of you, my lord," he said slowly, "but in truth, I do not see how you can help."
Llewelyn's smile was suddenly cool. "You'd not care to wager upon that?"
Stephen laughed. "I'd not take him up on that, Baldwin. You see, Walter has long owed him a debt!"
Llewelyn laughed, too. "Not so, Stephen. That debt was discharged in full some eight years ago; did Walter never tell you? No, this I do for you."
Stephen did not reply; he was staring across the hall, at the man standing in the door. A slender, silver-haired priest in his mid-forties, he looked somehow familiar to Stephen. "My lord Llewelyn, I may be wrong, but is that not your chaplain, Morgan ap Bleddyn?"
Llewelyn turned at once. "Yes, it is. Strange, he knew I'd be back at
Aberffraw by week's end. I wonder what could not wait. . ."
"My lord ..." Morgan knelt, rose stiffly to his feet. "A word with you, if I
may . . . alone."
Llewelyn pushed his chair back. "Morgan, are you ill? I've seen corpse candles with more color. Here, take some wine ..."
"Llewelyn ..." The priest waved the cupbearer away. "If we might retire behind the screen ..."
Llewelyn moved around the table, grasped the older man by the arm. "Tell me,"
he said. "Tell me now."
"It happened yesterday morn. Tangwystl was entering the chapel*' somehow she stumbled, fell upon the stairs. As soon as your doctor saV

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birth pangs had begun, he did summon the midwives." Morgan oped, drew a deep breath. "You have a daughter, Llewelyn. I'll not to you; she's fearfully tiny and frail. But with our prayers . . ."
"I'll leave for Aberffraw as soon as the horses can be saddled. You Id
Tangwystl you were coming to fetch me?"
"Llewelyn . . . she began to bleed. The midwives, they did what they could, but. . . they could not save her, lad."
"She's dead?" Llewelyn's was the calm of utter disbelief. He stared at Morgan, saw tears well in the priest's eyes. He was aware now of the others. The hall was very quiet, but all else looked as it had only moinents before. Dogs still lurked under the tables, snarling over bones. Summer sun still spilled through the unshuttered windows. Out in the bailey a curlew cried, a rising mournful plaint that went unanswered.
Morgan pressed a crucifix into Llewelyn's hand. "Come with me to the chapel.
I'll say a Mass for her soul, and afterward, we'll talk ..."
Llewelyn looked at the crucifix, let it drop into the rushes. Turning away from Morgan, from them all, he walked rapidly across the hall.
Unlike Baldwin, who'd been listening in utter bafflement, Stephen had grasped enough for appalled understanding. He took a quick step toward the door, but
Ednyved caught his arm.
"No," he said. "Let him be. There is nothing any man can say now that will ease the pain. I know; I did lose my wife in childbed, too."
Morgan retrieved the crucifix. "It is God's will," he said, sounding very tired, and Ednyved turned upon him with something much like anger.
"I can tell you, Father, that is but little comfort to a man who's just lost his wife!"
"It is all we do have, Ednyved." Morgan's grey eyes met Ednyved's brown ones, held them steadily. "I know Llewelyn, better even than you do. AH his life he has always gotten what he wanted, has shrugged at obstacles that would have daunted other men. It has been his strength, that utter assurance, the certainty that he can shape his own destiny. But you see, he's never learned to deal with defeat. He's never had tountil now."
Ednyved nodded. "Yes," he said softly. "You do understand."
THE air was cool and damp against his face. Llewelyn slid from the saddle. The sky was no longer visible, stars hidden by leafy clouds of oak, torch, and hazel. Here was no woodland quiet; the night echoed with 'he white-water sounds of river raging against rock. Llewelyn could see a ghostly gleam of white through the trees as the cliffs rose up above the bank. The roaring was louder now. Rhaeadr Eywnnol.his people called

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it, the Foaming Fall. Even at midday the water was always dark near the rocks, lightening to a paler green in the shallows. Now it was the black, est of blacks, faintly silvered by moonlight. Above the pool surged the River Llugwy, spilling down onto the rocks in a wild, white cascade of foam.
Llewelyn did not know how long he stood there, scant inches from the cliff.
Instinct alone had drawn him to Rhaeadr Eywnnol,where he'd so often come with
Tangwystl, just as instinct had guided him during those hours alone on the heights of Moel Siabod. He had no memory of where he'd been, merely a blurred awareness of time passing, darkness blotting out the light. There was only numbness, an inability to accept Morgan's words as true. Tangwystl was dead.
He knew that. And yet how could she not be waiting for him at Aberffraw? How could she be gone forever from his life?
Exhaustion at last led him back to Dolwyddelan Castle. They were watching for him; the drawbridge was lowered by the time he rode up the north slope, and a groom was waiting to take his stallion. He crossed the bailey, noting with dull surprise that the sky showed pale grey along the horizon. Mounting the steps into the keep, he all but stumbled over his son.
"Gruffydd? Gruffydd, lad, what are you doing out here?"
The boy blinked sleepily, looked about him as if he, too, wondered why he was not in bed. His face was puffy, streaked with dirt from the stairs. "I was waiting for you, Papa."
Lifting Gruffydd in his arms, Llewelyn carried him into the keep. Rushlights burned in wall sconces, the bed coverlets were turned back, a large flagon of mead and a loaf of manchet bread had been set out on the table. But the chamber was empty; the servants who normally slept on pallets were nowhere to be seen. Mead and solitudeall his friends could think to offer him.
"Sit beside me, Gruffydd. There is something I must tell you . . . about your mother."
Gruffydd had Tangwystl's green eyes; they were, Llewelyn now saw, swollen and rimmed in red. "Uncle Rhys told me, Papa, told me Mama is dead."
Llewelyn touched the boy's cheek, stroked his hair. "You understand what that means, lad?"
Gruffydd nodded. "That I will not see her anymore." Tears escaped his lashes, smudged a grimy path down his face. "Uncle Rhys said Mama's soul has gone to
God. But. . . but when my dog died, Papa, you buried him in the ground. Will
Mama be buried, too? I do not want her buried, Papa, do not want her in the ground . . ."
"Oh, Christ ..." Llewelyn stumbled to his feet, backed into the