Here Be Dragons - 1 (4 page)

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"Yes . ror now." Morgan stepped back, stood looking down at boy- "But y°u wi^ *>° kack to Wales, Llewelyn. You will go home."
SHROPSHIRE, ENGLAND
]unc 1187
Unri
J.HINK you, then, that there'll be war?"
Hugh Corbet hesitated. It was no easy thing to be a younger brother in an age in which all passed by law to a man's eldest son. But Hugh had been luckier than most. His was a family of considerable wealth; the Corbets held lands not only in Shropshire, but in Normandy, Warwickshire, Worcestershire, and Wales.
Robert Corbet had inherited the barony of Caus, but there were manors to spare for Hugh, too, and his relationship with his brother was blessedly free of the poisonous jealousy that bred such strife between a fortunate firstborn and his landless siblings.
Much of the time they were in harmony, working in tandem for the common Corbet good. But in this they were at odds. In this they were a House divided, much like the rival royal masters they served, for Robert's loyalties lay with
Richard, King Henry's eldest son and heir, and Hugh's sympathies went out to the beleaguered, aging King.
Hugh was silent, considering Robert's grim query. "I would hope to God it will not come to that, Rob," he said at last. "Father against sonthat is the ugliest of all feuds; it goes against the natural order of things."
nev R hbert t0°k thiS 3S a Veiled Jab at Richard'the unfilial son. "It would as IT £ave,,come to this if Henry would but formally recognize Richard defend"8^ had to concede the truth of that. Finding himself forced to the indefensible, he at once took the offensive, saying sharply,

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"Be that as it may, Richard had no right to ally himself with the King
Francenot against his own sire!"
"You know damned well why he felt that need, Hugh! With the' brother Geoffrey dead in France last summer, that does leave but Richard and John in line for the succession, and Richard knows all ton well that his father loves him not.
He knows, too, that Henry has eve favored John. What else can Richard think, except that his father means to raise John up to the place that is rightfully his?"
"And a right fine fear that be," Hugh scoffed, "one to cover a multitude of sins. You know fully as well as I that Henry could anoint John as the very
King of Heaven for all it'd avail him. The lords of this realm would never countenance so flagrant a breach of the laws of inheritance Nor can you doubt the outcome. Whatever John might be given, he'd not long holdnot against
Richard. No, Rob, if that be the balm Richard uses to soothe his conscience, he is a man much in need of absolution."
Robert's face was mottled, splotched with resentful red. "Richard is to be our next King, should God so will it, and I'll not have you speak ill of him in my hearing."
Hugh sighed. By now he could recite the dialogue verbatim for these acrimonious exchanges. Rob was as blind as a barn owl in a noonbright sun, dazzled by Richard's celebrated skill with a sword. Mayhap it was true that he was the finest soldier in Christendom, but if he had in him the makings of a good King, Hugh had yet to see any signs of it. Like as not, he'd pawn London itself to raise the gold he needed for his foreign wars. And John . . . would
John be any better? Hugh thought not.
He came abruptly to his feet. Why offend Rob and unsettle himself? To what end? Let it lie.
They were sequestered in the uppermost chamber of the castle keep, alone but for a bored page and a dozing mastiff, Robert's faithful shadow. The window was unshuttered; in winter it would be screened with oiled and thinly scraped hide, but this was summer and it was open to sun and sound from the tiltyard below. Hugh went to it and watched for a while.
"What do you watch?" The question was polite in tone, conciliatory in intent;
Robert thrived on family discord no more than Hugh.
"Llewelyn and some of his friends." As Robert joined him, Hugh gestured toward a small group of youngsters gathered below. Llewelyn was mounted on a burnished chestnut gelding; as the boys watched, he lowered his lance, took aim, and sent the gelding cantering across the tiltyard. He hit the target off-center and the quintain swung about in a wide arc, the sandbag slicing through the air like an opponent's counter blow. It should have sent him tumbling from the saddle to the straw

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soften youthful falls. But Llewelyn twisted sideways in th^ e&M leaning so far to his left that it seemed inevitable he'd be uru cl and the sandbag swept by harmlessly overhead. k^Hugh grinned. It was a showy stunt, an undeniably impressive feat emanship, one that Hugh had seen before. Robert had not, how^ ° er° and he swore in startled wonder. CV "How in Christ did he do that without breaking his neck?"
Hugh laughed. "You'd not credit what I've seen that lad do or\ u rse I truly believe the Welsh do learn to ride even ere they're weaned."
Below them, Stephen de Hodnet was taking his turn upon Lie-
elvn's gelding. He, too, hit the quintain awry and, seconds later, went sprawling into the straw, with a bruising impact that earned him no sympathy from the two watching men; they had suffered too many such spills themselves during their own years as knightly apprentices.
Reclaiming Sul, Llewelyn led it over to the fence, held out the reins to his brother. Adda shook his head, but Llewelyn persisted, maneuvering the gelding up to the fence so the younger boy could mount. Once securely in the saddle, Adda shed much of his awkwardness, and while he did not attempt the quintain, he put the gelding through several intricate maneuvers, showing himself to be a better rider than most of Llewelyn's friends.
Robert frowned. No matter how often he told himself that it was unchristian to feel such abhorrence of deformity, he could not control his distaste, could not keep his eyes from Adda's twisted leg. Thank the Lord Jesus that his torn was sound of limb, that the younger boys, too, were whole.
"He lacks for spirit, that one. If not for Llewelyn's coaxing, I daresay he'd never stir from the hearth."
"Well, it's hard on the lad, Rob, being lame. What future has he, after all?
Under Welsh law, that crooked leg bars him from any claim to his father's lands."
Robert shrugged. "He's not like to starve. Their law also holds that he must be provided for."
"True, but would you want to be taken care oflike a woman? At thirteen, Adda's old enough to feel the shame of it."
I suppose," Robert agreed, without interest. It was not that he wished Adda ill, merely that he regretted his engrafting onto the Corbet
.a y tree- It was fortunate indeed that Llewelyn was of more promis-
8 stock. "Tell me, Hugh, what plans have you made for Llewelyn's
Well, it is the custom in Wales for boys to be placed with a local when they reach fourteen or so. Whilst in his service, they learn the

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use of arms, the tactics of warfare, much like our youths do whilst serving as squires. Margaret thought to send Llewelyn back to her brothers for such training, but I think I've persuaded her that we should place him as a squire in a Norman household. I daresay the boy will balk at first, but I feel such a move would be in his best interest."
"That is just what I'd hoped you'd say, Hugh. You see, when I was in London at
Whitsuntide, I had the good fortune to encounter his Grace, the Earl of
Chester. Naturally the conversation turned to our common interests, protecting our respective lands from Welsh raids He was most interested to learn that your stepson is the grandson of Owain Fawr, and he suggested that he find a place for the boy in his household."
"Jesu!" This was so far above Hugh's expectations that he was, for the moment, speechless, and Robert grinned, well pleased with himself.
"I see I need not tell you what an opportunity this will be for the boy, for us all. Chester is one of the greatest lords of the realm, and as shrewd as a fox for all his youth. He saw at once the advantage of befriending a boy who might one day rule in his grandfather's stead. Llewelyn has the blood-right, after all, and most assuredly the spirit. With luck ..." He shrugged again and said, "But a chance like this, to come to manhood in an Earl's household!
Loyalties given in youth often last for life. As Chester's squire, the brilliance of Llewelyn's world cannot help but eclipse all he's learned in the woodlands of Wales. He'll find himself amongst the greatest Norman lords, at the royal court, and in time he'll come to embrace Norman values, to adopt
Norman traditions as his own."
Robert paused. "Do not misunderstand me, Hugh. I know how fond you are of the boy, and I find him a likable lad myself. But I cannot help feeling a certain disappointment that, after four years, he clings so tenaciously to the teachings of an undeniably primitive people. Despite all the advantages you've given him, Llewelyn remains so stubbornly"
"Welsh?" Hugh suggested dryly, and Robert laughed. He'd actually been about to say "untamed" before thinking better of it, and he did not demur now at his brother's interpretation; they were, he thought, merely different ways of saying the same thing.
"Well, I shall talk to Margaret this forenoon, tell her about Chester's offer"
Hugh began, and then turned toward the opening door.
"Ah, Margaret, we were just speaking of you. Rob hasMat" garet?"
Upon seeing Marared for the first time, Hugh had blessed his luck suddenly found himself eager to consummate their political alliance ill the marriage bed. Marared was a beautiful woman, if rather exotic by

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r h standards, and after four years of marriage, he still took consid-
f.1 pleasure in the sight of her. But she had no smile for him now, ef rl the golden glow that owed so little to the sun was gone. Bleached of
3 i her face was ashen and her lashes were sooty thickets, smudged
C°ith the kohl bleeding into a wet trail of tears.
She paid no heed to Robert, crossed to her husband. "Hugh, we st eo home. We must go back to Powys at once. It is my brother Owain. He ... he's been murdered."
THERE was a word in Welsh, hiraeth, that translated as "longing," but it meant much more, spoke of the Welsh love of the land, of the yearning of the exile for family, friends, home. Whenever he was claimed by hiraeth, Llewelyn would flee to the heights of Breiddyn Craig, and there he would spend hours in sun-drenched solitude, gazing out over the vales of the rivers Hafren, Vyrnwy, and Tanat. Now he was back at last, sitting Sul before the grey stones and slate roof of Llanfair, the church of St Mary.
This ancient church in the vale of Meifod was the traditional burial place for the princes of Powys; here his mother's father had been entombed and here his slain uncle would be laid to rest. He sought to summon up grief for this uncle he could little remember, but to no avail. He'd come back for a funeral, to mourn a man who was his blood kin, and yet as he looked upon the wooded hills that rose up behind the church, he felt only exhilaration, felt like a caged gerfalcon, suddenly free to soar up into the sun-bright azure sky.
Here he'd passed the first ten years of his life. Seven miles to the south was
Castell Coch, the ancestral seat for the princes of Powys. His mother's family had a plusa palaceless than a mile away, at Mathraval. The woods of mountain ash and oak and sycamore, the river teeming with trout and greyling, dappled by summer sun and shadowed by willow and aldereach stone was known to him, each hawthorn hedge rooted deep in memory. He was home.
He glanced sideways at his companion, one of his stepfather's squires. Should he tell Alan of his family's plus, he knew what the other
°y would expect, a Norman edifice of soaring stone and mortar, for
W lle most castles were timbered fortresses, the word "palace" conjured up images of grandeur and luxury. Llewelyn had been to London, had
^een the Tower and the palace at Westminster, and he'd heard of the corn" °f Windsor Castle. He knew there was nothing in Wales to mpare to the magnificence of the Norman court, and he cared not at
311 *at this was so.

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He laughed suddenly, and when Alan shot him a curious look, he slid from Sul, handing the squire the reins.
"I'd be obliged if you looked after Sul, Alan. Should my lady mother or my stepfather ask for me, concoct what excuse you will."
Alan grinned. "Consider it done. But are you sure you'd not want company?"
Llewelyn was tempted, but only briefly. He thought of Alan as a friend, but his were memories, emotions, sensations that no Norman could hope to understand.
The Vyrnwy was free of the mud and debris that so often polluted English rivers, for there were no towns to despoil its purity with refuse and human waste. Llewelyn could see chalk-white pebbles glimmering on the shallow river bottom, see the shadows cast by fish feeding amidst the wavering stalks of water weeds. He forgot entirely that his uncle had died by this very river, his plas at Carreghova besieged by a man who was Llewelyn's own first cousin, Gwenwynwyn, Prince of southern Powys. He forgot his mother's tears, forgot his stepfather's ambitious plans for his future, forgot all but the here and now.
He'd walked these woods so often in memory, hearing the rustle of woodmice and squirrels, the warning cries of overhead birds, sentinels ever on the alert for the intrusion of man into their domain. A fox come to the river to drink was slow to heed the alert and froze at sight of Llewelyn, muzzle silvered with crystal droplets of river water, black eyes bright as polished jet. Boy and fox stared at one another in rapt silence, and then Llewelyn snapped his fingers, freeing the fox to vanish into the shadows as if by sorcery; not a twig cracked, not a leaf rustled to mark its passing. Llewelyn laughed and walked on.
He felt no surprise when he broke through a clearing in the wood and came upon the boys by the river; somehow he'd known that he would find them here. The
Vyrnwy had always been their favorite fishing stream.
Shyness was an alien emotion to Llewelyn, but he found himself suddenly ensnared by it now, reluctant to approach the youths who'd once been like his brothers. They were not talking, theirs the companionable silence born of the intimacy of blood and a bonding that had begun in the cradle. Watching them, Llewelyn felt an unexpected emotion stir, one closely akin to envy. He belonged here, too, fishing on the banks of the Vyrnwy with Ednyved and Rhys, but how to surmount the barriers built up by four years of English exile?
They were lounging on the grass in positions as characteristic as they were familiar: Rhys sitting upright, utterly intent upon the trout to be hooked, Ednyved sprawled on his back in the sun, fishing po'e wedged into a pyramid of piled-up rocks. And as ever, Llewelyn found