Here Be Dragons - 1 (69 page)

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after his marriage to the little Chilham heiress." His squires had pulled his hauberk over a padded tunic, and were buckling his scabbard. "The truth, Ranulf. What are our chances?"
Chester could not recall John ever calling him by his Christian name. "Well, I'd not trade places with Louis for the surety of my soul!" he said, and John laughed. He was reaching for a wine cup when the shouting began.
"The King, where's the King?"
John yanked the partition aside just as the Earl of Derby burst into the tent.
"Your Grace, you'll not believe it, what Thouars and the barons are doing"
"Stop babbling and tell me, then!"
"The Poitevin barons, they're pulling out, my lord, deserting us!"
"Oh, Christ . . ." For a moment John froze, unable to distinguish between daylight horrors and those of his dream. And then he shouldered Derby aside, ducked under the tent flap.
Men were clustered around the tent; they moved aside, quickly cleared a path.
The Poitevins were already mounted, preparing to depart. John recognized
Aimery, Viscount of Thouars, began to move toward him. They knew each other well; Thouars had long swung like a weathercock in a high wind, pledging fealty to John or Philip as circumstances seemed to dictate. He did not look defiant now, just uncomfortable, and before John could speak, he blurted out, "We were willing to join you in laying siege to Roche-au-Moine, but not to fight the French That was never our agreement. Philip is our liege lord, too;
we owe him"
"You lying bastard! You've known for a fortnight that I meant to do battle with Louis, and you said nothing, raised no objections. No, you waited, waited till the day of the battle. Tell me, how much did the French pay you, Aimery?
Did you get your thirty pieces of silver?"
Thouars flushed, began to bluster, but John was no longer listening. Even as he'd raged at Thouars, as embittered accusations and invective took shape upon his tongue, an inner voice sounded an instinctive warning. Something was very wrong. Thouars was unscrupulous an unreliable, but he was also weak-willed, shrank from confrontation He'd have fled in the dark of night, on his own would never have foun the courage for this diabolically timed desertion.
John's eyes slid pa Thouars, searched the faces of the others. And then he saw the < Lusignans, then he understood. His eyes locked with Hugh's, n 8 smiled and then leaned over, spat into the dust. , (
"You English have a proverb I've always fancied, John, the one says revenge is a dish best eaten cold." .^g
John jerked his sword from its scabbard. "You craven, cocksu vvrhoreson! God rot you, but you'll pay for this, I swear you will, if it takes me till Judgment Day!"
Hugh laughed. "Ah, but today is Judgment Dayfor you. Good lock with the
French."
With that, the de Lusignans spurred their mounts, signaled to their inen. The other Poitevin barons followed, galloping out of the encampment to the jeers and taunts of the outraged English.
Chester came forward, stopped beside John. He waited, and after a time, John said softly, "And I gave him my daughter, my Joanna ..."
"Your Grace!" The Earl of Derby was shoving his way toward them. "Your Grace, what mean you to do? The French will be upon us, and how can we fight now?
We've just lost half our army!"
John turned, and then sheathed his sword. "We cannot fight. Give the command to retreat. Tell my captains to head for the Loire."
"But what of our siege weapons, the mangonels and trebuchet? What of our

tents, your baggage carts, your"
"Leave them." John's voice was without emotion, utterly flat, but Derby did not dare to argue. One look at John's face and he spun about, began to shout orders. The anger of their soldiers was now giving way to alarm, to the first stirrings of panic. Men began to run for their horses, and those who had no mounts began to scuffle with those who did. A few took advantage of the pandemonium to loot the tents of their cornmanders. Tempers flared, brawling broke out, and John's captains tried in vain to maintain some semblance of order. But the men had only one thought now, to flee before the French army arrived.
John did not move, even when his agitated attendants brought up his stallion, implored him to mount. He stood alone midst the chaos and confusion, watching the disintegration of his army.
WITHDRAWING to La Rochelle, John wrote urgently to his barons, earls, and knights, most of whom had remained in England, requesting that ey cross the
Channel and join him without delay, even promising that dny of you should have understood that we bore him ill will, he can ave '* rectified by his coming."
His son Richard, landing at La Rochelle ate July, caught up with John on
August 2 at Limoges, where he had e unhappy task of telling his father that reinforcements were not corns' that John's hopes for regaining his continental empire now de,linded upon his brother Will and Reginald de Dammartin and the army ey were assembling in Flanders.
Wa Was a subdued gathering in the Abbot's solar that night. Eleanor
^ch ' *n a wmdow seat with John and Isabelle's five-year-old son, rcl' young Henry, as the heir to the throne, had remained in En-

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gland, and little Joanna had been turned over to the de Lusignans f0t rearing at the time of her betrothal in May. Isabelle was moving restlessly about the chamber. When Richard appeared in the doorway, she held out her hand, beckoned him toward the settle.
"I'm so glad you've come. John is much in need of cheer." Richard had noted his stepmother's pallor, the sleepless nights etched in the shadows smudged under her eyes, and he said, "I suspect that you are, too. Tell me about
Joanna. The de Lusignans will not give her up?"
"No, of course not. They mean to honor the betrothal, Richard She's their hostage, you see. As long as they have her, John cannot move against them, cannot punish them as they deserve."
Richard swore with unusual savagery. "Misbegotten, treacherous hellspawn, may the curse of God be upon them all."
Isabelle's lashes flickered. "Hugh's son was not at Roche-au-Moine It may be that he was not privy to their plans, did not know what they meant to do."
Richard's surprise was considerable. He might have expected such naivete from
Eleanor, but never from Isabelle, Isabelle of all women. "Have you been well?
When is the babe due?"
"Not for months yet, not till December." Isabelle nodded to her son's nursemaid, who rose to take the youngster off to bed. Eleanor at once rose, too, offered to take him herself.
"You've been kind enough to read to Dickon all evening, Nell, need not act as his nursemaid, too."
Eleanor smiled at the child, who grinned back. "Oh, but 1 enjoy it, Madame,"
she said, and did in fact look regretful when the nurse led the little boy from the solar. She seemed about to join Isabelle and Richard on the settle, but drew back into the shadowed window seat as John entered the chamber.
Isabelle at once became solicitous, finding a cushion for him, acting as his cupbearer. John accepted her ministrations without comment. Richard was startled by how much he had aged in the six months they d been apart; the jet-black hair was rapidly going very grey.
Giving Isabelle an oblique look that Richard could not quite interpret, John said, "I expect Isabelle has been telling you about the de Lusignans and our
Joanna."
Richard nodded. "You must not blame yourself, Papa. Many blood feud has been reconciled in the marriage bed. How could V know what would happen?" a
"I should have, though, for this was not the first time I gave awa> ^ Joanna.
And did marriage to my daughter bind Llewelyn to me. v ake of him an ally? I gained nothing, and lost a daughter. No, Richard, j should have known ..."
Neither Richard nor Isabelle knew how to answer, how to comfort. Isabelle slid closer, began to massage the taut muscles in John's neck nd shoulders, but after only a few moments, he impatiently signaled for her to stop. "Did you tell Isabelle, Richard, of the news you brought me? This past May I instructed
Pembroke to levy a scutage tax of three marks per knight's fee upon all those who'd balked at taking part in this campaign- Scutage has always been paid in lieu of military service, since the days of my great-grandfather. Yet Richard tells me that many are now refusing to pay it, claiming they owe no service for wars fought on foreign soil." John paused, before adding bitterly, "And for this I can thank my great and good friend the Pope. Had he not insisted I
pardon de Vesci and Fitz Walter"
Breaking off as the door opened, John turned, saw the Earl of Chester standing in the doorway. "Come in, my lord. We were just discussing the benefits of being the Pope's anointed. Since I became reconciled with God and the Church,

nothing has gone right for me. What conclusion might I draw from that?"
But his sarcasm stirred no rejoinder. Chester had not yet moved from the doorway. He stood in shadow, saying nothing, and there was something about his stance, his utter stillness, that alarmed them all.
"Well?" John's voice was suddenly husky, full of foreboding. "What is it?"
"I've news, Your Grace. News from Flanders."
"Tell me," John said, and Chester came forward, knelt before the settle. "Your nephew Otto finally joined his army with that of your brother Salisbury. They were at Valenciennes, preparing to march on Paris, when their scouts reported that Philip had circled around, was now behind them. They swung about, and the two armies met on Sunday last near the village of Bouvines."
John's hand jerked; wine splashed upon his sleeve. "And the victory?"
"It went to Philip, Your Grace. The victory was Philip's." John closed his eyes, gave himself up to the dark. But Chester's ,°lce droned on relentlessly.
"It was bloody work, my liege. Philip ^ed the bridge over the River Marque, so his men could not retreat. tk att'e's end, the dead numbered in the thousands. Your nephew fled e 'eld when it became clear all was lost. But your brother and Damel^11 Scorned fli§nt' fought to the last. Your brother led a desperate con across the field to reach Dammartin's men. It was an act of great §e/ Your Grace, and almost carried the day."

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Chester's loyalties were not personal, were pledged to the monarch, not to the man. But as he looked now at John's face, his dark eyes softened, and he said, with some pity, "At least I can tell you that your brother still lives. He and
Dammartin were both taken, are Philip's prisoners."
Isabelle reached over, gently pried the wine cup from John's fist "Beloved, I'm sorry, so sorry . . ." When he did not respond, she tried to put her arms around him, but he pulled away, rose to his feet.
"It's over," he said, almost inaudibly. "It's all over."
"For now, yes. But there'll be other chances, Papa, other"
"No, Richard. It's done."
John moved to the table, picked up an hourglass, put it down again. "Find out what Philip wants to ransom Will and Dammartin. Whatever it is, I'll pay it.
Whatever it is . . ."
"I'll be honest with Your Grace. Philip may not be willing to free themfor any price. That's a possibility you may have to face, my liege."
John's head jerked up. "No! There must be a way to secure their release. You find it, Chester. No matter what it takes, you find it." What had begun as a command, even a threat, ended up quite differently, came as close as John could get to entreaty. "I cannot lose them, too," he said, and then turned abruptly, walked rapidly from the room. After a moment's hesitation, Isabelle followed.
Richard rose, too, then glanced back over his shoulder. "Is my father right, my lord Chester? Are Normandy and the other provinces well and truly lost to
England now?"
Chester nodded. "Nor is that all we lost at Bouvines. Your lord father may have been defeated at a distance, Richard, but he was defeated all the same.
You may be sure his barons back in England will seek to take full advantage of it."
Neither spoke after that; there was nothing to be said. The silence was at last broken by Eleanor. She'd sat, frozen, in the darkened window seat as
Chester spoke of defeat and death. Now, as she began to comprehend what the battle of Bouvines would mean to her, she covered her face with her hands, wept bitterly.
35
ABER, NORTH WALES
December 1214
Jc
JOANNA often dreamed of Llewelyn when they'd been apart for a while, but rarely had a dream been so vivid, so explicitly erotic, and she awoke with regret, reluctant to find herself alone in a cold, empty bed. But as she sighed and stirred, she felt Llewelyn's breath on her throat, felt his hands on her body, and she sighed again. "Now I understand why my dream was so wonderfully wanton," she said drowsily. "But you're taking a great risk; my husband is expected back at any time."
He gave a low laugh. "Then I'd best make haste." "If you do, I'll never forgive you." She slid her hands up his back, wrapped her arms around his neck. "Beloved, I'm sorry, so sorry. It was all my fault..."
"Later," he said, and kissed her lashes, her eyelids, and then her mouth.
"Later . . ."
"'SING from the bed, Llewelyn pulled a towel from a wall pole, rubbed himself vigorously. Returning to the bed, he pulled back the damp, Nrnpled sheet, and began gently to pat Joanna dry. "You know more an °ne way to set a bed afire,"
he said, and Joanna stretched provocahvely, gave him a lazy, satisfied smile.
We did strike some sparks," she agreed. "I truly missed you." He smiled, too, and she touched her hand to his cheek. "How did
0 Ur meeting with your cousin Madog go? Were you able to win him

En ,. ' ^ite easily. I think he's wanted for some time to disavow the hJ;
and throw in his lot with us. He just needed to know we bore m"° grudge."

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"You've been gone longer than I expected, fully a fortnight." "After Madog and
I came to terms, I got word that a Genoan trierchant ship bound for Ireland had gone aground near Pwllheli. I decided to see for myself what cargo had washed ashore."
"I see." Joanna sat up, wrapped her arms around her knees. "[ know that as
Prince of Gwynedd you claim dominion over any ship that founders off your shores. But in the eight years we've been wed, Llewelyn, not once have you chosen to visit a shipwreck yourself. Was this merchant ship truly as richly laden as that?"
"No," he admitted. "But I thought it best if we had some time apart." He reached over, let his fingers follow the curve of her throat "Else I might have been sorely tempted to throttle you, my love."
"I gave you cause. I'll not deny that I acted like the worst sort of shrew.
The truth is that I think I wanted to provoke a quarrel with you." She smiled sadly. "And, by God, that I did." "Your father's letter?"
"Yes." Joanna put her hand on his arm. "I fear you'll not like what I have to say, but I ask you to hear me out."
When he nodded, she drew an uneven breath. "I'd never gotten such a letter from my father before; I doubt if he'd ever written to anyone as he did to me that night at Woodstock. It began as a factual account of what has been happening since his return to England. He wrote that de Vesci and Fitz Walter met last month at Bury St Edmonds with the Earls of Clare and Norfolk and other barons who've refused to pay the scutage tax. He told me that they've changed their tactics, that they're now talking of a charter supposedly issued by the first King Henry. They claim this charter sets limits upon the King's authority, and they are demanding that John agree to be bound by its provisions. He is greatly troubled by this new stratagem, for he says it is like to find widespread support amongst his barons, even those who've so far held aloof. He thinks Stephen Langton's is the guiding hand behind it, for he says it is too subtle, too shrewd a maneuver for minds like de Vesci's and
Fitz Walter's."
Llewelyn had been listening with some impatience, for she was r lating facts already well known to him. With that last, though, he silently saluted John's insight, for he had been in contact with the re barons for several months, and this sudden emphasis upon a charter liberties was indeed Langton's doing. ,, "It was not until he made mention of my uncle Will and Reg1 de Dammartin that the letter's tone changed, that his despair bro through." d nflt
Llewelyn did not give a damn for John's despair, and he coui keep tne coolness from his voice as he said, "I thought you told me John had been able to arrange Will's release."
"He did. When he besieged Nantes last summer, a cousin of the French King was amongst those taken captive, and Philip has agreed to exchange Will for his cousin. But he flatly refused to release Dammartin. ue said Dammartin was a traitor, owed a debt of dishonor that was now due and payable. When my father wrote to me, he had just learned vvhat Dammartin's fate is to be. Philip has confined him in a cramped, dark cell, chained to a log, and he shall be kept in that hellhole until he dies."
Joanna's voice faltered. "I know what you're thinking, Llewelyn, that my father has forfeited the right to sit in judgment upon Philip. There's no denying that he'll face Our Maker with sins no less grievous upon his soul.
But Reginald de Dammartin was his friend, and I know how deeply he mourns, for
I read his letter.
"I read his letter," she repeated, "and I wept. I knew how heartsick he was, sore beset on all sides. I knew, too, that he was ailing, for Richard had written me that he'd suffered a severe attack of gout, so painful that he'd been bedridden for days. Yet shall I tell you what I did, Llewelyn? I dried my tears, found pen and parchment, and wrote him an answering letter as cold as