Here Be Dragons - 1 (56 page)

a father and a husband. But for the moment, nothing mattered more than
Gruffydd's need. "Ednyved and Rhys are outside in the cloisters. They'll escort you back to our camp, Joanna."
She gave him an anxious look that made him conscious of just how exhausted he truly was, but she did not argue, slipped quietly from the chamber. Llewelyn crossed to his son, put his hand on the boy's arm. Gruffydd jerked free with such violence that he lurched against one of the benches.
"How could you do it, Papa? How could you ever agree to turn me over to John?"
"Agree? Good Christ, Gruffydd! Does a man dragged to the gallows agree to the hanging? If you'd not insisted upon coming with me, if y°u'd stayed at Dolwyddelan as I wanted" Llewelyn broke off in mid-
sentence. After a long pause, he said, very quietly, "Gruffydd, listen to e' lad. I'd give anything on God's earth to spare you this. But I cannot.
u must somehow try to understand that. You keep telling me you've cned manhood, you're no longer a boy. You have to prove that now, m%dd, by accepting what has to be."
Llewelyn had always known his son had uncommon courage, an

350
r
353
unrelenting pride. Gruffydd had lost much of his color. A few freely not usually noticeable stood out in sudden, sharp relief across his cheek bones, the bridge of his nose; he'd rarely looked so much like his moth as he did at that moment. He swallowed with an obvious effort, b when he spoke, he'd gotten his voice under control.
"Where will he send me? To London, to the Tower?"
Llewelyn winced. Jesu, no wonder the boy seemed so fearful! "Ah no, lad!
You're to be a hostage, not a prisoner. You will not be caged, win not be shut away from the sun. John will treat you kindly, will keep you at his court." He could see Gruffydd's doubt, said, "He always does with hostages of high birth, has even allowed the younger ones to act as pages in his Queen's household."
This time when he reached out, Gruffydd did not pull away. He put his arm around the boy's shoulders, and for a moment or two, no more than that, Gruffydd clung, held tight. But then he drew back. "How long," he asked tautly, "shall I be held hostage?"
"I do not know," Llewelyn admitted, and Gruffydd retreated even farther into the shadows.
"I want to be alone now, Papa." Gruffydd did not wait for Llewelyn's response, but at the door he suddenly stopped, swung around to face his father again.
"Tell me, Papa. Would you have given Davydd up as a hostage, too, had John demanded it?"
"Yes," Llewelyn said, "I would."
Gruffydd's face was utterly in shadow. "I wish I could believe that."
"Gruffydd, wait!" Llewelyn reached the door in four strides, bul still was not in time. The cloisters lay dark and deserted, and Gruffydd was nowhere in sight.
THE sky was overcast, the sea dulled to an ashen shade of grey, the air so heavy and humid that Joanna felt as if she were filling her lungs with pure vapor. It must be like this to be caught in a cloud, she thought, and let herself indulge in a moment of fanciful whimsy, gazing up at the sky and wondering what it would be like, drifting within a world soft an wet and utterly opaque, a floating womb.
"Whatever are you thinking of, Joanna? You've the oddest look °n your face!" .
"When I was little, Richard, and out of favor with my mother, would go out on the moors and play what I called my 'pretend' gair' Sometimes I'd become a bird, sometimes a boat bound for Cat metimes just a leaf in the wind. I'd almost forgotten about those games-"
She glanced across the encampment, toward her husband and his n Llewelyn was talking, Gruffydd saying very little. He was close ough for
Llewelyn to touch, but even from where she stood, Joanna ould see ne was beyond reach. She turned back to her brother, said bruptly/ "Richard, promise me something. Do what you can for Gruffydd."
He nodded, as ever, too discreet to pry. And because he did not, she felt obligated to explain. "For Llewelyn, not for Gruffydd. I will not lie not to you. When I learned what Papa meant to do, I was glad, Richard, I was truly glad. I only hope Papa keeps him in England for a thousand years. But if anything should happen to him whilst he is in Papa's hands, it will be the end of my marriage. Llewelyn might think he'd not blame me, but every time he'd look at me, he'd remember. How could he not? So try to ... to keep an eye on
Gruffydd, see that he does not do anything foolish, or provoke Papa into doing anything . . .
rash."
"Joanna, I'll do my best, but I'll not lie to you, either. I cannot be the boy's guardian angel, cannot be Papa's conscience."
"No, I suppose not," she conceded. "Do you know if Papa is still within the
Earl of Chester's command tent?"

"I think so. You mean to talk to him again? You've tried twice, Joanna; it might be best to give him time ..."
"Time?" she echoed bleakly. "Now who's lying, Richard? You know as well as I
that time is running out even as we talk."
JOANNA curtsied, but did not wait to be summoned. Moving forward, she said, "My husband is making ready to depart. May I speak with Your Grace ere we go?"
"I think it best if we do not. I do not see what we have to say."
Joanna had no more warning than John. Never had her temper token fire so suddenly, flaring from embers to inferno in the span of seconds. "Well, I do have something to say to you, and say it I shall!"
John was staring at her as if at a stranger, for it was the first time e ^
ever seen Joanna truly angry. He hesitated, then made a gesture of ismissal.
The other men in the tent withdrew, leaving him alone with h* daughter.
I did not betray you, Papa. Yes, I love my husband, but I am not st "If t0
fee' Suilty about that, not anymore." Joanna drew several un"A, y "reaths;
regaining some of her composure, she said more calmly, ' apa, do you not see? The human heart is not like a loaf of bread; if

352
I give a large portion to Llewelyn, it does not follow that I must then giVe you a smaller slice. I love you both, in different ways. If I stood with
Llewelyn on Sunday, it's not that my love for him was greater, but rather that his need was greater."
John said nothing; she could not tell whether her words were reaching him or not. "Papa, you told me once that your mother and father had ever used you and your brothers as weapons against each other You said you could not please the one without first damning the other I'm asking youno, I'm begging you. Do not do to me what they did to you."
"Joanna . . . that's not what I ever meant to do. Surely you know that?"
"What I know, Papa, is that I love you and I love Llewelyn, and the two of you are tearing me apart!"
John flinched. "I never wanted that, lass," he said softly, "I sweat it."
Joanna moved around the trestle table, moved into his arms. He hugged her close, then stepped back and smiled at her. "I think it a good thing I had sons. Daughters are much too resourceful at getting their own way, are much harder on the heart!"
Joanna took her cue from him, did her best to echo his wry, teasing tone. "I
do not know about that, Papa. I'd wager most daughters are more docile and biddable than a man's scapegrace sons."
"So would I, until this morn. In truth, Joanna, I never suspected you had such a temper!"
"I am your daughter, Eleanor of Aquitaine's granddaughter. Are you not the one always telling me that a pure-blood horse breeds true?"
John laughed, and it was as if their estrangement were forgotten, as if all were as it had been. But as much as Joanna wanted to believe that, she knew it was not so, for either of them.
As she followed John from the tent, Joanna discovered that the Welsh were waiting for her. Llewelyn was already astride his chestnut stallion. He watched as John escorted Joanna toward her mare, as they embraced and John helped her to mount. He raised his hand then, gave the signal to depart. But
John still retained his hold on Joanna's reins.
"Be sure," he said, "that you take care of my daughter."
"Your Grace need not worry about my wife. You take care of my son."
Joanna saw the look that burned between them; the very air seerne charged with static. She had no illusions left, knew their truce would n° last. There would be a reckoning. There would be another war, a there was nothing she could do, for both men wanted it so.

29
CAMBRIDGE, ENGLAND
March 1212
JOHN rode into the riverside town known as Cantebrigge at dusk on Good Friday, settled himself and his court in the stone-and-timber castle built by William the Conqueror.
Cantebrigge was a sprawling, unwalled town of some two thousand inhabitants, like most of the English towns Gruffydd had seen in the past seven months in that it had a marketplace, a leper hospital, a disproportionate number of stone churches, a Jewish ghetto called the Jewry, and a gallows, stocks, and pillory. But Cantebrigge was also home to a university with a large, raucous student population, in consequence of which it had more than its share of alehouses and bordellos.
Passing through the town, Gruffydd's companions took enthused notice of the latter, began to make plans for a night of disreputable pleasures. As ever, it struck Gruffydd as strange indeed that in some ways he should have greater freedom as a hostage of the English King than as the son of Gwynedd's Prince.
In Wales he'd been conscious at all times of his rank; as Llewelyn's firstborn son, he was accustomed to being the focal point of stares, the target of whispers. Unable to escape his identity, he could only do his best to live up to it, and his dread of being roade to look ridiculous had imposed upon him an unwilling chastity. He'd known there were women of easy virtue, women of the brake and bush who'd lay with a man for money. But each time he was tempted, he would begin to fear that he might not know what to do, that the w°man would laugh at his inexperience and, far worse, then tell everyne about his inept fumbling, his greenness.
But once in England, he discovered that for the first time in his life, ^" W^C !»*-»* 1.1 i £ _ 1.1. !_ i. 1 1 _: -^l_ L i__
11 T*!-. ^ -- J
den was not the center of attention, not known by sight to all. The sud-
anonymity was unsettling, but liberating, too. On a night in mid-

354
November, he'd accompanied some of his fellow hostages to a Hereford bawdy house and had lost his virginity to a plump Saxon whore named Edwina, who smelled of sweat and garlic and charged him half a penny but called him "love"
and put to rest any lingering doubts about his manhood.
Now, when his friends Collen and Emlyn pressed him, he fell ln with their plans willingly enough. He was beginning to want more than hurried couplings on fetid, scratchy straw, to want a bedmate he did not have to buy. But he did not see much likelihood of his forming an attachment of the heart at the
English court, and if he could not ease his loneliness, his heartsick yearning for Wales, he could at least relieve his body's needs.
It was dark by the time a fasting-day fish supper had been served, before
Gruffydd and his companions were able to find beds for themselves in the side aisles of the great hall. Madoc ap Maelgwn sauntered past, nodded coolly.
Gruffydd gave an equally cool greeting in return, was glad when Madoc moved on; he was not good at dissembling, found it awkward to be in such close proximity with the son of his father's enemy.
He knew Collen's father had not sent him any money for some weeks, and he was counting his own coins to make sure he could pay for them both, when a man clad in the red and white livery of the King stopped before his pallet.
"I've been sent to escort you to the King's Grace," he said brusquely, and
Gruffydd's heart skipped a beat. He could think of very few reasons why John should be summoning him, none of them reassuring.
THE room was circular, lit by smoking wall cressets, cluttered with open coffers and clothing. Gruffydd found it almost intolerable to be in John's presence, sometimes thought he might choke on his hatred, and it was with the greatest reluctance that he came forward, knelt.
But in the next moment the English King was forgotten. Gruffydd got abruptly to his feet, stared openmouthed at the woman standing next to John. He would never have believed he could be so glad to see one he so detested, but now he stepped toward her, said eagerly, "° you bring a message from my father, Madame?"
Joanna shook her head, and he felt his throat close up with disap pointment.
But then he heard a familiar voice say, "Why should I g1 Joanna a message I
can better deliver myself?" and he spun aroun < disbelieving.

355
"Papa?" He sounded stunned, and Llewelyn laughed, came swiftly across the chamber.
"I wanted to surprise you, lad, not send you into shock!"
Gruffydd still could not believe his father was here, on English soil, n
John's private chamber, not even when he found himself gathered into an affectionate embrace. His sense of unreality went spinning wildly out of control when Llewelyn turned, said with the utmost nonchalance, "John, I'd like to take Gruffydd back to my own chamber now, so we can talk."
And when John replied composedly, "By all means; Joanna can stay and visit with me, giving you time alone," Gruffydd decided that the world had gone mad, and all in it.
He somehow managed to hold his peace as they crossed the bailey, entered the northwest tower, mounted the spiral stairway to the chamber allotted for
Llewelyn and Joanna's use. But as soon as the door closed behind them, he blurted out, "Papa, what in God's name are you doing here?"
"Just what it looks like," Llewelyn said blandly. "I am celebrating Easter with my wife's family." And then he gave a sardonic laugh, added, "Of course, this reunion required a safe-conduct and an exchange of hostages!"
"Are you sure that you're safe here?"
"As safe as Salisbury's life can make me. John sent his brother again as a pledge of faith."
Gruffydd's anxiety abated somewhat, although not his bewilderment. "But if he did not lure you to England to imprison or murder you, what has he in mind?
Why is he being so polite to you?"
Llewelyn laughed again. "He cannot very well do otherwise as long as I am a guest at his court. Ostensibly he summoned me so he can visit with Joanna, whilst magnanimously giving me the chance to see you. The reality, of course, is that John wants something from me. Sit, and we'll talk about it. Do you know what has been happening in Wales?"
"Not much," Gruffydd admitted. "Just what we manage to overhear. I do know that John sent Falkes de Breaute and Maelgwn into Ceredigion, that they defeated Owain and Rhys leunac, forced them to surrender, to come to London and make a public submission to John." "at was a distasteful memory to
Gruffydd. He grimaced, said, "They Were thoroughly cowed, Papa, showed no spirit at all... not like you."
That was, Llewelyn realized, Gruffydd's oblique way of making mer»ds for those earlier accusations of cowardice. He smiled at the boy, ld< "But John then made a fatal blunder. Rather than turning CereSton back to Maelgwn, he claimed it for the crown, set Falkes de reaute to building a castle at Aberystwyth."