Here Be Dragons - 1 (43 page)

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played right into Philip's hands. John's silence just gives credence to th more lurid rumors put about by the French: that Arthur was tortured blinded, even slain by John's own hand. It was a stupid way to rid him self of a rival, since none can be utterly sure the boy be dead, and I d not see John to be a stupid man."
"He may not be stupid, but he has no liking for the light, has a natural affinity for shadows and silence and deeds done in the dark " Ednyved said dryly.
"Do you want to know what I've always suspected?" Llewelyn set down his mead cup, pausing instinctively for dramatic interest. "That Arthur's murder was an act of impulse, was not premeditated. I think John confronted the boy, and they quarreled; we know they'd done so in the past, that confinement had not broken Arthur's spirit. It is my belief that Arthur said or did something which so enraged John that he gave the command without fully thinking it through."
Ednyved looked skeptical. "Why unpremeditated, Llewelyn?"
"Because if Arthur's murder had been planned out in advance, John would never have been within a hundred miles of Rouen that night, would have put as much distance between himself and the crime as possible" Llewelyn stopped abruptly, and an uncomfortable silence fell as Joanna came toward them. Not sure whether she'd overheard, Llewelyn rose, moved to meet her.
To his relief, she smiled. "Elen's begun teething, and I do not know how well she'll sleep, but she's abed now."
"That," he said, "sounds like a right appealing idea."
"What. . . sleep?" Joanna murmured, and laughed softly when he answered as she'd known he would.
"No . . . bed."
JOANNA stretched, gave a small sigh of utter contentment, and Llewelyn leaned over, kissed her softly on the mouth. "You're purring like a cat, you know that?"
"Little wonder. That was a very satisfactory homecoming, rny lord." She smiled at him. "I missed you so much. And I love you so much."
"I love you, too." He kissed her again, gently, tenderly. "But rny darling, I'd love you so much more if you were to fetch me some wine-
Joanna gave a splutter of indignant laughter, hastily culling her meagre Welsh vocabulary for the proper putdown. "Digrin," s*1 chided, gratified to see
Llewelyn's eyes open wide.
"Joanna . . . what did you want to call me?"

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"A sluggard " She saw him bite down on his lower hp, said uncer inly- "Why7 Dl%nn>lf 1S not 7"
"Diogyn means 'sluggard/ love " Llewelyn was openly laughing
"Dignn dignn means 'unwithered'1"
n Joanna's first reaction was one of mild embarrassment and frustra
She was coming to envision Welsh as a tide beyond her control it s always sweeping in, inundating her in alien sound, and just when he thought she was getting her head above water, it went roaring out earn, stranding her high and dry But after a moment or so, she began to see the humor in it, and joined ruefully in Llewelyn's laughter
"Sometimes I despair of ever learning your language," she con fessed, and he slid his arm around her shoulders, drew her closer "You'd learn it faster, Joanna, if we were to speak Welsh, not
French "
"But as tongue-tied as I am, we'd never be able to communicate at all then
Except in bed1" She settled back m his arms, and then, before she could lose her nerve, she said, "You were talking about Arthur before, were you not7"
Llewelyn did not answer at once "How much did you under stand7"
"You were all talking so fast just Arthur's name and Papa s It was not hard to guess the rest Llewelyn do you think Arthur is dead7"
"Yes, love, I do," he said quietly, and after a moment, she sighed
"So do I," she admitted "It's been nigh on five years Logically, he he must be dead But Llewelyn, could he not have sickened, died through mishap7
Papa might well have feared to make it known, after the way his enemies have lied about him in the past And if Arthur tried to escape "
She looked at Llewelyn in mute appeal, and he said, with all the conviction he could muster, "It may well be, Joanna " But the day would come, he knew, when she would not be so readily reassured, when her faith might not be strong enough to prevail over fact He smoothed her hair away from her face, said, "I'd rather not talk of John's nephew, breila But I never tire of talking of his daughter "
That coaxed a smile from Joanna "You did just earn yourself that nnk of wine," she said, and reached for her bedrobe The first time ewelyn had said he loved her, soon after Elen's birth, she'd been con-
lr>ced that was the happiest, most fulfilling moment of her life But er, doubt had crept m Llewelyn had been known to handle the truth
( n less than scrupulous care, how could she be sure he was speaking g the heart, not merely saying what he knew she needed to hear7
§lrig the wine cup back to the bed, she watched as he drank, and

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then, as he leaned over to put the cup on the floor, the words seemed to come of their own accord. "Llewelyn . . . why do you love me?"
"Why? Because, in appearance and demeanor, you seem the per. feet Norman ladymodest, reticent, aloof even. And then I get you [^ my bed, and you all but scorch the sheets!" He laughed, ran his hand caressingly along her back, down her thigh. "Not to mention your admirable good taste in loving me beyond all reason!"
Joanna could not help herself, felt a throb of disappointment. But she should have known better, in truth, should have known he'd not take such a question seriously.
Llewelyn reached up, drew her down beside him again. "No, you are not at all as you seem to be, breila. You are a constant surprise to me, and not just in bed. When I was a lad, my mother would oft tell me the legend of the bird with the resplendent plumage; shall I tell it to you now? When it nests in the grass, it is not easily seen, for it takes on the drab protective coloring of the earth that gives it refuge. But when it takes flight, soars up into the sky, its wings burst into flame, reflect all the glories of Heaven itself. As a boy, I spent hours searching for that bird ... in vain, of course. Passing strange, that I should find it after all these years . . . and in my own bed."
Joanna had listened, mesmerized. "Me?"
"You're like that mythical bird, love. You cloak yourself in the muted colors of a wellborn Norman lady, seem soft-spoken, shy, and obedient. But that is not you, Joanna, not truly, and when I least expect it, your spirit takes flight like the bird with the sun-bright plumage, as when you did defy Maude de Braose on our wedding day ... or when you burned my bed."
"You'll never let me forget that, will you?" Joanna laughed. "But I need never explain why I do love you. How could I not, after hearing you say that? You are a man of many parts, in truth, Llewelyn, my lovePrince, warlord . . . and poet."
"That is merely to be Welsh, breila." But she was not deceived by the playfulness of his reply, knew how deeply she'd pleased him, for she'd learned by now how highly eloquence was valued in his world. He'd begun to caress her again, and she wrapped her arms around him, soon forgot all else but the here and now, the feel of his hands upon her body and his mouth upon hers.
The sensual spell was a powerful one; only belatedly did they become aware of the noise in the antechamber, of the pounding on the door. Llewelyn jerked upright, swore. But then he pulled the sheet up over Joanna, said curtly, "Enter."
Joanna's reflexes were slower; she reoriented herself with greater
-ffficulty, lay back against the pillow as Ednyved, Morgan, and Gwyn b
Ednywain hastened into the chamber.
They wasted no time with apologies for the intrusion, knowing one were needed.
"Llewelyn, a messenger has just ridden in from the Bishop of St Asaph. The
Bishop would have you know that on Passion Sunday a proclamation is to be read in churches throughout England and Wales, laying both realms under Interdict until John agrees to yield to the Pope."
The news was not unexpected. Llewelyn felt no surprise, only rage. He cared little whether John or the Pope prevailed in their war of wills; their quarrel was nothing to him. But the pain of his people was, and he was deeply resentful that the Welsh must suffer with the English, that the papal punishment should fall equally upon both lands.
"Damn them both to Hell," he said, with bitter blasphemy. "Why should the
Welsh have to suffer because a Norman King and a Roman Pope disagree over an
English diocese?"
Morgan felt compelled at that to say, "His Holiness had no choice but to do what he did." But his heart was not in his defense, not when he thought of how long the churches might stand silent and dark, or of how long the devout might

be denied the Sacraments.
"Philip held out for seven months. But John . . . John could hold out for years," Ednyved said grimly. "It's nothing to him whether he can attend Mass or not. He's not like to care even if the bodies of the dead are stacked up like kindling in the churchyards. Not when he's found a way to turn the
Interdict to his profit. Bishop Reiner says he has ordered the confiscation of all church property in retaliation, is using the Interdict as a license to loot!"
"Llewelyn ..." The sound of his wife's voice startled Llewelyn; he had, for the moment, forgotten she was there. Turning toward her, he saw that she'd paled noticeably, and the hand she put upon his arm was cold as ice.
"Llewelyn, you keep saying gwaharriad. That means 'Interdict,' does it not?"
And when he nodded, she drew a sudden sharp breath. "Oh, no!"
"Joanna? Surely you knew it was likely to come to this ..." But she was not listening. "Morgan, Morgan, I know an Interdict "leans there can be no Masses said, no burials in consecrated ground, n° confessions. But what of christenings, Morgan? May a newborn child still be christened?"
"Yes, my lady, you may rest easy on that. Holy Church would not dam:
an an innocent soul if it could be saved.' "Thank God!"

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"Joanna . . ." Llewelyn was staring at her. He started to speak, stopped, and glanced back toward the men. "We'll discuss this on the morrow," he said, but they were already retreating.
As the door closed, Llewelyn tilted Joanna's chin up, looked intently into her face. "Joanna, are you with child?"
"I think so," she whispered. "My flux did not come this month. But it is too early to know for certes, and I did not want to tell you till I could be sure
..." She averted her eyes at that, lest he guess the truth, that she'd been hoping she was wrong, that she was not pregnant. She wanted his children, wanted to give him a son. But not so soon. Elen was not yet five months old, and her memories had not had time to fade. Whenever she found herself remembering the pain-filled day of Elen's birth, she remembered, too, her fear. But she was ashamed that she could take so little pleasure in this pregnancy, and she forced a smile. "If I am right, I may well give you a son ere the year be out. Would that not please you, Llewelyn?"
"Yes, of course." He took her in his arms, rested his hand against her belly, so deceptively taut and flat, caressed the slender body that seemed such a fragile receptacle for a new life, repeated, "Indeed, Joanna, I am well pleased." But as she raised her eyes to his, she saw in them no pleasure, saw only the reflection of her own anxiety.
V
HEREFORD, ENGLAND
April 120S
V VILLIAM de Braose was surprised and disconcerted to find himself hesitating before John's solar door. He'd spent a lifetime facing down lesser men, men who lacked his cold-blooded cou age, his utter indifference to the rules of fair play, his intoxication wi high-stakes gambles. Never before had he shrunk from confrontatio But never before had he so much to lose.
A moment passed, and then another. De Braose stared at the oa

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, or And then he reached for the latch, shoved inward, and strode into the chamber, his the assured, loose-limbered gait of a man equally at home m the saddle or on shipboard, a man with nothing to fear But he broke stride abruptly at sight of the others the Earls of Salisbury and Pembroke, the
Bishop of Winchester, a shadowy fourth figure beyond the range of hearthfire
De Braose was genuinely shocked, too shocked to hide his dismay He knew John as few men did, had never made the mistake of underestimating him But even he had never imagined John would take such a chance, that he would nsk witnesses to their war of wills
He had no conscious awareness of coming forward, kneeling before John, the action was automatic "Your Grace, I think it best that we speak alone," he said warmngly, never taking his eyes from the man who was his sovereign, onetime carousing companion, friend, and benefactor "What I have to say be for your ears alone "
"Indeed7 I can think of nothing you could say that would warrant a private audience Be thankful, rather, that I was willing to grant you any audience at all " John's voice was cool, impersonal, utterly at variance with what de
Braose read in his eyes "What would you say to me7"
And in that moment de Braose understood He had underestimated John after all
They might indeed share a bloody secret, but they were notand this was his fatal mistakepartners in crime He'd not thought John had the courage to call his bluff, and in this he had been wrong, too The twisted, dark road they'd traveled together since that Eastertide at Rouen had come to an abrupt end here in the shadow-filled solar of Hereford Castle John had thrown down the gauntlet in irrevocable and unmistakable fashion, before a roomful of witnesses Now the choice was his He could subject himself to his King, make a total and humiliating and costly surrender to a man not noted for generosity toward fallen enemies Or he could make use of what he knew, could damn John and doom himself
John showed no emotion, but his son Richard drew a sharp, audible breath, stepped from the shadows as if to forestall de Braose For Rich-
j>rd- too, understood what was occurring When he'd first realized what
15 father was doing, daring de Braose to speak of Arthur, to make a
Public accusation, Richard was appalled, until that moment, he'd not
Cognized how much he preferred not to know Arthur's fate Now he a.fed not at de Braose, but at his father, awed by the risk John was
Wlllln8 to take
°ut RUt but was the nsk/ m truth' a11 that 8reat? As the Sllence spun uncle wrd'S 6yeS fllcked raPldlY to the faces of the other men, to his of ,he '"' to the aging Pembroke, to the elegant Peter des Roches, one e °nly two Bishops not to follow their brethren into French exile in