Here Be Dragons - 1 (72 page)

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state of war! For nigh on a month, my revenues have been cut off, my government hamstrung. And each day sees more defections to the rebels. I'm no longer sure who's with me and who's not, and I do not know whom I can trust.
Yes, I agreed to grant them their charter. At swordpoint! But the game is not over yet."
"I've not read these articles, Papa. You say you can live with most of the provisions. Mayhap you could live with the charter, too, if you tried . . ."
"Never. This so-called peace treaty is utterly one-sided. There's no equity in it. They give up nothing, whilst I am compelled to free all hostages, to banish my foreign mercenaries and Poitevin bailiffs, to dismiss Peter des
Roches as Justiciar. And then . . . then to submit to the judgment of five and twenty over-Kings, men who'd barter with the Devil to see me dead. But I am
King by God's will, not Eustace de Vesci's. As King, I am responsible for my subjects, not responsible to them. I'd rather lose my kingdom fighting for it than see it whittled away piecemeal by men like de Vesci, Fitz Walter, and
Llewelyn ab lorwerth."
"What will you do, Papa?"
"Whatever I have to do. I'll give them what they want, their Runnymede charter, and then we'll see; then they'll fly their true colors. Why do you think I've shown such forbearance, Richard? When have you ever known me to be so tender with traitors? But I've had to play to a larger audience than de
Vesci and Fitz Walter. There are one hundred ninety-seven baronies in the realm. As far as I know, thirty-nine are in rebel hands. A like number hold fast for the crown. That still leaves well over a hundred that are unaligned, that have not committed themselves to either side. I daresay most favor a charter in some form or other, but how many of them would be willing to fight for it, to fight both crown and Church? Especially when they see how Fitz
Walter and his five and twenty use their charter, as a means of feathering their own nests and settling old grudges . . . not all of them with me."
"You mean, then, to ask the Pope to annul the charter?"
"If I have to, yes."
"But what of this provision in the articles, the one expressly forbidding you to appeal to the Pope?"
"The Church will never accept such a stricture. It was naive of F»z Walter to think otherwise. However sympathetic Langton is to the con cept of a charter, he cannot in conscience agree to foreclose a papal ap peal. To do so would be to put the charter above the Church. I've talk6 to Langton and to Pandulf. The price the barons will have to pay for tn great charter of theirs is to omit any mention of the Pope."
John sat down suddenly in the nearest chair. "Shall I foretell

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future for you, Richard? It does not take a Peter of Wakefield to predict what is to come. I shall give them their accursed charter, for I have no choice.
But they will not keep faith, with it or with me. The Pope will intervene on my behalf, invalidate the charter as an act of naked extortion."
John paused, glanced over at his son, and Richard saw that for once he was being utterly honest. "And then," he concluded bleakly, "we will have what none of us truly wantedwar. War to the death, no quarter given, and God pity
England."
37
DOLWYDDELAN, NORTH WALES
}unt 1215
WH, V VHEN Llewelyn rose to fetch Gwladys, Joanna experienced a moment of near panic. Ever since his arrival at Dolwyddelan, she'd been dreading the time when she would find herself alone with Reginald de Braose. Taking a bracing swallow of wine, she cast about frantically for a neutral topic of conversation, for a way to keep Maude's ghost at bay.
"I know your son Will. He once stayed at my husband's court. How does he? Will he be attending your wedding?"
"Not likely, Madame. As far as I know, he's still in France. Will's ever had a mind of his own, and now that he's nineteen . . ."
"His mother's death must have been hard on him," Joanna sympathized, trying all the while not to think of the deaths that must have truly devastated Will.
Had Reginald been the one to tell him? How could y°u tell a fourteen-year-old boy that his grandmother and uncle had ken starved to death?
In truth, Madame, they were not that close." Reginald signaled for servant to refill his cup; he did not seem to share Joanna's unease. "My aughter Matilda is a good lass, does what she's told. But Will and I...

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well, we always seem to be at odds. Part of the trouble, I think, is that he was my mother's favorite, and she Jesii! Madame, are you all right?"
Joanna stared down at her broken cup, at the wine soaking the rushes. When she raised her eyes to Reginald's, they were blinded by tears. "I'm sorry," she whispered, "so sorry . . ."
Reginald was suddenly as flustered as she. "How stupid of me," he said at last. "I was thinking of you as Lord Llewelyn's wife, had all but forgotten you are John's daughter."
"I do not know what to say to you. I pray for Maude's soul, and for your brother's, but"
"Madame, do not distress yourself so. I do not blame you. We are none of us answerable for the sins of our fathers."
That was not the creed of his House; few Marcher families had so bloody a history as the de Braose clan. But Reginald sounded sincere, and even if he was speaking only out of his need to gain Llewelyn as ally, Joanna was grateful for his assurance, was willing to take absolution upon any terms she could get.
She was spared the need to respond, for Llewelyn had just reentered the hall, was escorting his daughter toward them. Gwladys showed no embarrassment at being the object of all eyes. A| seventeen, she had poise a much older woman might envy, a sure sense of her own worth as a Prince's daughter. We must get her a wedding gown of purest emerald silk, Joanna thought, a color vivid enough to set off those dark gypsy looks. Gwladys would make a very handsome bride and, thank God, a willing one. Joanna knew the girl would have preferred to wed a Cymro, one of her own people. But even the independent Gwladys would never have claimed the right to choose her own husband, and she seemed content enough with Llewelyn's choice.
Joanna, however, had yet to be reconciled to the match. She could see the shrewd political logic in such an alliance. She could even see why the union was advantageous for Gwladys. Reginald de Braose was an attractive man, not yet forty, with polished manners and a reputation for being more moderate and reasonable than most of his tumultuous kindred. And the bulk of the de Braose lands were situated in Wales or the Marches, so Gwladys would be spared the fate that had so daunted Joanna, the prospect of a life in exile. But to
Joanna, all else was overshadowed by a bond of blood.
Llewelyn had sympathized with her reluctance to see her stepdaughter wed to
Maude de Braose's son. But he had not been deterred from making the alliance.
Joanna knew he had balanced her discomfort against the good of Gwynedd, and she'd come up short.
"What are you thinking of, breilal" Llewelyn was smiling at "e ' She linked her arm in his, let him lead her aside.

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"I was thinking," she said, "how thankful I am that we have years yet ere we must give our Elen away in marriage "
"WHAT is this7" Joanna looked up as Llewelyn dropped a parchment scroll into her lap
"I thought you might be curious about the Runnymede charter "
"Indeed I am, but I do not read Latin " Unrolling the parchment sheets, Joanna stared in wonder at what she held, a French translation of her father's charter "Llewelyn, you did this for me7"
"Well, one of my scribes did " Llewelyn pretended to stagger backward as
Joanna jumped to her feet, flung her arms around his neck "Had I only known I
could gladden you so cheaply with a few pages of parchment, I might have saved a small fortune over the years, need not have given you all those moonstones and garnets and gold necklets "
"Laugh if you will, but the world is full of men who'd as soon share this charter with their serfs as with their wives, men who think a literate woman to be the Devil's handiwork "
"And with good reason, bmla Teach a woman to read and write, and ere long her head will be overflowing with unseemly and unwomanly ideas She might even think to enter an enemy encampment, to negotiate peace terms on her husband's behalf "
"Have I ever told you," Joanna murmured, "that you have very taking ways7"
Llewelyn laughed "I daresay the citizens of Shrewsbury would agree with you "
Joanna laughed, too, and sitting down upon the settle, she began to thumb through the document, reading at random "I doubt my father was much troubled to agree that fish-weirs be banned from the River Thames' Nor by this provision that no free man shall be imprisoned or outlawed except by the judgment of his peers or by the law of the land, he offered that himself in his compromise proposal of May tenth In fact, Llewelyn, much of this charter seems to state existing law Take this dause 'No one shall be taken or imprisoned upon the appeal of a woman for the death of anyone except her husband ' I thought that was already the law of the land, that a woman could testify only to the mur

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favor." Joanna very much needed to recall acts of compassion, equities she could balance against the horror of Nottingham Castle, the merciless vengeance taken upon Maelgwn and Maude de Braose. But Llewelyn was not the ideal audience for a testimonial to John's better nature, and she glanced nervously in his direction, seeking to gauge the extent of his forbearance.
Quarrels had been kindled by much less. But Llewelyn's mood had been euphoric for days now, ever since they'd gotten word of the settlement upon the meadows of Runnymede. He could not begrudge Joanna such meagre solace, and he nodded agreeably. Reassured, Joanna returned to the charter.
"I know men think it unfair that a woman has the right to engage a champion whilst an accused man must fight for himself. But I find this provision no less unfair, Llewelyn, for it could conceivably be interpreted to deny a woman the right to bring a rape charge. How glad I am that we have our own laws, that we are not subject to trial by ordeal or combat and a Welshwoman's oath is conclusive as to whether she was raped or not."
"When you said 'we,' did you speak from the heart? Have you come to think of yourself as Welsh, breilal"
Joanna hesitated. "No," she admitted. "I think of Wales as home, but that is because of you, our children. In all honesty, I have not your love of the land; people are all that matter to me. I do not have any attachment to
England, either, have never felt the . . . hiraeth that you do away from
Wales."
Llewelyn would have preferred another answer, but had not truly expected one.
"I'd wager that most of Norman-French blood feel as you do. But I think that will change in time. The loss of Normandy casts a long shadow."
Joanna was intrigued. "You're saying that having lost their Normandy estates, men will come to give greater worth to their English lands?"
"Already you can see signs of it, Joanna. You Normans may not ye' think of yourselves as English, but you've begun to draw distinctions of birth. One of the complaints against John's Justiciar, Peter des Roches, was that he was born in Poitou, not England. It was the loss of his Angevin Empire that brought John to Runnymede. But that same loss will one day forge a sense of unity amongst the English, Norman and Saxon alike. I only hope it will not be at the expense of the Welsh."
He sounded suddenly grim, and Joanna reached up, laid her nan on his arm.
"Have you forgotten the story you told me, Llewelyn, or Welsh sage and King
Henry? Henry wanted to know if the royal army would prevail, and he said ..."

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"He said, 'Lord King, I do not think that on the Day of Direst Judgment any race other than the Welsh, or any other language, will give answer to the
Supreme Judge of all for this small corner of the earth '"
"I do not think the Welsh need fear the future, beloved, not as long as the
House of Cunedda rules in Gwynedd But why do you link Normandy and Runnymede7"
"Because, Joanna, this charter is aimed as much at John's father as it is at
John John's government is not that different from Henry's Granted, his word is worthless, but Henry was not slow to dissemble, either, when it served his purposes Henry's barons chafed under his rule, too, fully as much as do John's
No lord wants an overly strong King, a government that truly governs John is hated because men feelrightfullythat they cannot trust him But he might have been hated less had he been less effective a King or had he not lost Normandy
Henry and Richard both ruled with a heavy hand, but they were gone from the kingdom for years at a time, occupied by events in Normandy, Anjou, Poitou
Those absences gave their English barons a needed respite, some breathing space But for nigh on ten years, John has been anchored in England, riding the length and breadth of the realm, bringing his courts and his constables, collecting taxes, levying scutage, making enemies To his hard-pressed barons, he must have begun to seem as ever-present as God, as inevitable as death and about as welcome1"
Joining her on the settle, he stretched out, pillowed his head in her lap, and she leaned over, gave him a playful upside-down kiss "This charter could only have been drawn up by lawyers, with their passion for complexity The wardship of minors, debts to the Jews, bridgebuilding, intestate deaths, uniform measures of wine and corn, is there any subject they did not seek to address7
So much of it seems unnecessary to me Here it states that a widow shall not be compelled to marry again, provided she offers security that she'll not marry without the Kmg's consent I agree with the principle, Llewelyn, but it already is the practice Widows often petitioned my father for the right not to remarry, and he almost always allowed them to purchase that privilege "
Yes, he did But that privilege depended upon the King's whim, >> convenience
Now it will depend upon the charter As a widow, lch would you rather rely upon, Joanna7"
Joanna did not need to consider "The charter," she conceded "I e your point
You're saying that the true significance of this charter is a it changes privileges into rights7"
rath t'nat '* 8oes bey°nc' the rights of individual petitioners It's
,2 r *e a borough charter, one granting certain privileges to the cit-
°* a particular town Except that this charter encompasses the en-

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tire realm. That is a novel concept. A pity it shall be as short-lived as the peace it warrants."
"Are you so sure that the peace cannot last?"
"Read the last clause of the charter, Joanna. Then read the list of names affixed to the charter, the barons elected to the committee of twenty-five.
And then tell me if you think John will ever accept their governance."
Joanna did as he bade. "God's wrath, look at these names! Eustace de Vesci, Robert Fitz Walter, Saer de Quincy, the Earls of Hereford and ClareI count fully fourteen to be my father's sworn enemies, only two to be men he can trust. Llewelyn, they want war; it's as simple as that."
"Nothing is ever that simple, love. I grant you that they mean to press their advantage to the utmost. They are not likely to keep faith with the charter.
But I find it hard to fault them for that, for they know that John will not, either. He's bound to appeal to the Pope, and when he does, he will prevail.
It cannot be otherwise, for his legal position is unassailable. Canon law holds that an oath given under duress is not binding. The Pope must annul the charter. John knows it, I know it, and I expect most of the barons know it, too."
Llewelyn sat up, reached for the charter. "You asked what I see as the true significance of the Runnymede charter. For me, it lies in two brief provisions, breila. One compels John to make restitution of Welsh lands, liberties, and rights seized unjustly by the crown, recognizes the supremacy of Welsh law in Wales. And the other . . ." He did not bother to glance at the parchment, for he had long since committed the words to memory.
" 'We will restore at once the son of Llewelyn,'" he quoted, " 'and all the hostages from Wales and the charters delivered to us as security for peace.'
That is the heart of John's great charter, Joanna. My son is coming home."
IT was early morning; the July sun had not had time to assert dominion, and the air still held some of the dampness of night. Joanna's ladies were helping her to dress, and Llewelyn was about to submit himself to his barber's razor.
It was then that the shouting began in the bailey, the sounds of celebration.
The
The scene that greeted Llewelyn was one of pandemonium, bailey was thronged with men and women, barking dogs, excited c dren. In the midst of all the uproar, Gruffydd was struggling to con his stallion. He'd obviously not expected so joyful a welcome, an smiled shyly at his well-wishers, acknowledging the greetings of to6 shoving to reach his side. He was wearing a finely woven new tunic/
WBP^
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it was streaked with dust and sweat, offering Llewelyn poignant testimony to the urgency of his son's journey.
The crowd now took up Gruffydd's name, chanted it in triumphant unison.
Gruffydd flushed under the acclaim, and then glanced up, saw Llewelyn standing on the stairs. As he slid from the saddle, the crowd hushed, parted before him. He moved toward the keep, stood looking up at his father.
"Gruffydd." Llewelyn's voice was suddenly husky. He came down the stairs, stopped when the space between them could be breached by an outstretched hand.
"It's really me, Papa." Gruffydd tugged self-consciously at his beard. "I must look like a right proper Norman. But they would not trust me with a razor, and once I was free, I was not willing to wait a moment longer than need be."
"I do not think," Llewelyn said slowly, "that a single day has passed in these four years when I did not envision this moment, imagine what it would be like, what I'd say to you. I meant to tell you how much I've missed you, and how very proud I am of you. And now you're here, and that's not enough. Christ, it does not even begin to be enough."