Here Be Dragons - 1 (73 page)

"It is enough for me, Papa."
Joanna had followed Llewelyn out onto the stairs. She stood very still, watching as her husband and his son embraced. She'd long had an unease of conscience where Gruffydd was concerned, for she remembered with uncomfortable clarity how she'd welcomed Gruffydd's banishment to the English court. It was a memory that often came back to haunt her in the months after Gruffydd's harrowing ordeal at Nottingham Castle, and she'd resolved that if the boy was ever given his freedom, she'd try to make peace with him. Not just for
Llewelyn's sake. She owed it to Gruffydd. This was yet another of John's debts that she was somehow honor-bound to repay.
But her good intentions faltered now at sight of Gruffydd. Her pity had blurred Gruffydd's memory, and she'd had almost three years to recast her recollections in a more sympathetic mold, to convince herself hat she could befriend Gruffydd if given a second chance. It was a shock, therefore, to confront reality, the flesh-and-blood man standing
°n the stairs. With his bright beard, broad shoulders, and flowing hair, * did not look like a proper Norman to her, more like a Norse pirate leftain. She'd forgotten the aura of danger that clung to Gruffydd.
en as a boy he'd had it, and he was no boy now, was very much a man.
Neither Llewelyn nor Gruffydd seemed to want to end their em-

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brace. When they finally moved apart, both had tears in their eyes and both were laughing. Only then did Joanna start down the stairs.
"Welcome home, Gruffydd," she said, and smiled at him.
Gruffydd did not return her smile. She was his father's wife, he could not forget that. But he could not forget, either, that he'd forfeited four years of his life because of her, because she would see her son as Llewelyn's heir.
"Yes, Madame," he said softly. "Gwynedd is indeed my home."
GRUFFYDD entered the stables, set his lantern upon a stall gate, and knelt, holding out a savory beef bone. Math's tail twitched; he snatched the bone from Gruffydd's hand, retreated with it into the shadows. Gruffydd rose, but made no move to go. The raucous celebration of his return had not died down with the day's end, and after three years of solitary confinement, Gruffydd was overwhelmed by all the noise, the press of people. He'd once seen a young deer on the loose in Shrewsbury; he could better understand now the panic a woodland creature might feel in such alien surroundings, and he was not eager to return to the hall, to take center stage again. Gruffydd did not feel like a hero, not at all, just very tired, confused, and curiously let down.
The stable door creaked and he glanced up, saw a small boy peering in at him.
But he did not mind sharing his solitude with a child, and he gave the boy an encouraging smile.
"See that alaunt in the corner? Math was my dog once; I was sure he was the best dog in all of Christendom! I truly hated to leave him, and whenever I'd get too homesick, it would help to think of Math, to think how he'd welcome me home." Gruffydd settled back upon a bale of hay. "But I was gone four years.
He does not even remember me."
The child came closer. He was a thin youngster, with a thatch of untidy black hair, a shy smile, and a smudge of dirt on his nose. "Here, he said, thrusting something into Gruffydd's hand. "This is for you.
Gruffydd held it up toward the lantern light. "A penny?"
"It's my lucky penny."
"Then I cannot keep it, lad."
"But I want you to," the boy protested, and squatted down beside Gruffydd. "I
do not remember you, not at all," he confessed, after some moments of companionable silence. "I was too little when you leftI'm six and a half now."
He paused, waited expectantly. "Do you know who I am? I'm Davyddyour brother."
Gruffydd's hand jerked; the coin fell into the straw. Davydd at omscrambled to retrieve it. "Here, you dropped your penny."

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Gruffydd ignored Davydd's outstretched hand Getting hastily to jus feet, he stared at the boy His brother Joanna's son
"I do not want it," he said roughly, saw Davydd's mouth quiver, saw only a small child, bewildered and hurt But then Davydd stepped forward, and the lantern light fell full upon his face, upon the slanting hazel eyes Accursed cat eyes John's eyes
Gruffydd drew an uneven breath "Jesus wept, you even look like him1 You may speak Welsh better than she does, but you've still got his eyes, his blood God grant that I never forget it "
Gruffydd was badly shaken, and he took refuge now in rage, rage that would enable him to blot out memory of that moment, however fleeting, when he'd identified with Davydd's pain If he ever gave in to weakness like that, he was lost, and so was Gwynedd This was Joanna's son, John's grandson "Go away," he said "You had no right to do this, to seek me out I do not want you here "
Davydd stood rooted "Why are you so angry with me7 What have I done7 I've never hurt you"
"You've never hurt me7 I spent four years in an English prison because of you, you and your mother' Why do you think John wanted me as a hostage7 Because he means to make you Prince of Gwynedd, a puppet English Prince to dance to
London's tune1"
Davydd was struggling not to cry "I did not want you to be a hostage1 I was glad you were coming home, gave you my penny And my mama was glad, too, when the English let you go, she told me so You say such strange things, and they make no sense Papa is Prince of Gwynedd So why would the English King want me to be Prince7 And I m Welsh, how could I ever be an English Prince7"
"No, you are not Welsh," Gruffydd said bitterly "They may give you a crown, but they cannot give you that Welsh you'll never be "
Davydd gasped "I am so Welsh1 You take that back1"
'Ask your mother, your Norman-French mother She was born in
England, the daughter of the English King If I mate Math to a spaniel, 'he pups will be neither alaunt nor spaniel, but mix-breeds, curs Nei-
er or>e nor the other That's you, too, neither English nor Welsh, and v°u'd best learn to live with it "
a YDD was alone in the stables Gruffydd had gone, taking his lantern, the dark was not friendly Davydd still clutched his penny, now he
^ 8 it away, into the blackness beyond him, and moved closer to
Math " ^°^ 8row^e<^ l°w m lts throat "I do not want your bone, ' Davydd said, but the dog growled again He'd find Mama, that's

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what he'd do. Mama could tell him if there was truth in what Gruffy,^ said.
The great hall was overflowing with people. Davydd had to squirm his way between them, trying not to tread upon the long, trailing skirts trying to avoid jostling elbows, spilling wine cups. His neck began to ache as he craned upward, searching for familiar faces. He could not find his mother, and he began to feel a suffocating sense of panic. He wanted to get away from the smoke and loud laughter, the bodies walling him in on all sides. He wanted his mother.
But it was not Joanna that he found; it was Llewelyn. It had never occurred to him to seek out his father for comfort. He loved Llewelyn very much, but he was very much in awe of him, too. His need was now so great, though, that he could wait no longer. He had to know, and he edged his way forward until he could pull at the sleeve of his father's tunic.
Llewelyn glanced down. "Should you not be abed, lad?" He was turning back to the adults encircling him, when his son tugged again at his arm.
"Papa? Papa, am I Welsh?" he said, and saw with relief that he'd succeeded in catching his father's full attention, for that was not always easy to do.
"Come with me," Llewelyn said, and led Davydd up the steps onto the dais, sat the boy down in his own seat. "Now," he said, "what would make you ask a question like that? Of course you are Welsh."
"Is Mama Welsh?" Davydd asked, very low.
"No, lad. Your mother is of Norman-French descent."
"Then . . . then I'm not Welsh," Davydd concluded despairingly, and Llewelyn swiftly shook his head.
"You are Welsh, Davydd. You are my son, and under our law, that makes you
Welsh, as Welsh as anyone in this hall, me included."
Llewelyn smiled at the boy, but Davydd ducked his head. He'd begun to pull at the embroidery decorating the seat cushion. "If Mama is Norman, I must be half
Norman."
"That's right, you are. Welsh by law, and half Welsh and half Norman by blood."
"But the Normans are your enemies, Papa."
"Yes, some of them are. But not all. I have many English frien < Davydd, men
I'd trust far more than I would a Welshman like Gwe^ wynwyn. To have Norman blood is no shame, lad. After all, you are ashamed of your mother. Surely you do not think less of her for Norman?" , gtgi
"No! I love Mama more than anything. But ... but what o p na? Mama is Norman; what am I? If I'm not fully Welsh and fully Jorrnan, then I'm nothing!"
"Ah, Davydd, no. You could not be more wrong. Most people have nly one heritage. But you have two, your mother's and mine. That ves you more than my other sons, makes you doubly blessed."
Davydd was silent for a time, plucking absently at the cushion threads. "I had not thought of it that way," he admitted. "But what of Math, Papa? If you mate him to a spaniel, the puppies will be curs."
Llewelyn reached out, brushed the hair back from Davydd's eyes. He did not doubt now that Davydd was mouthing something he'd overheard; no six-year-old would ever have drawn such an analogy on his own. "You know that roan stallion of mine, the one I bought at Michaelmas? I got him in Powys, because they are celebrated for the fine horses they breed. Horses of Spanish stock, crossed with sturdy Welsh mares. Crossbreeding can bring out the best of two strains, Davydd. In horses .. and in men."
Had he said what the boy needed to hear? He was not yet sure, for Davydd's was not an easy face to read. "We should have told you ere this. But your mother finds it painful to talk about her father, and so we kept waiting . . ."
"The English King is truly Mama's father?" Davydd had absorbed too many shocks this night for one more to have much impact. "He's a bad man, Papa."

"Yes, lad, he is. That's why it hurts your mother so."
"I'm glad, then, that I did not talk to Mama, that I talked to you." Davydd then astonished Llewelyn by saying, "To be both Welsh and Normanis it like . .
. like being a bridge, Papa?"
"Yes, Davydd, exactly like that." Llewelyn was that rarity among parents, one capable of making a realistic assessment of his offspring, tallying up both strengths and shortcomings. He was very fond of Tegwared, but saw him for what he was, a good-natured, amiable youth, both generous and feckless, equally lacking in ambition or malice. Marked and Gwenllian were eager to please, easy to content, neither as UVer nor as stubborn as Gwladys. Elen was his free spirit, his secret °nte. And Gruffydd was his firstborn, the son wild and reckless and c°urageous and wronged.
ut Davydd had remained an enigma. A quiet, self-contained child, w [ft* little
8iven ei{her to confidences or complaints, and he was so Wo ehaved that
Llewelyn sometimes found himself wishing the boy SUCL eak free, put frogs in his sister's bath, or ink in the holy water, sa Prar>ks were an exasperating but expected part of the rites of pasr°ugh boyhood, and it baffled Llewelyn to have a son so sedate,

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so unlike himself. This sudden glimpse into bavydd's mind was a revelation, therefore, the first intimation he'd \\^ tjiat this son could b special.
"Your brother Gruffydd is back in the h^ j^t's g° over and talk to him," he suggested, not noticing when Davydd lagged behind.
"Papa . . . Papa, will Gruffydd go away ^Kam?"
Llewelyn turned, smiled reassuringly att^e boy "No, lad, he'll not go away.
Not ever again."
Davydd stopped on the steps of the d^is stoOd watching as his father crossed to Gruffydd. Davydd's sister^ ^ere already there, clustered around Gruffydd in an admiring circ]e At fae sight of Elen in Gruffydd's lap, Davydd felt a sharp surge of a hitherto unfamiliar emotion, jealousy.
Something nudged his leg, and he looke^ down to see Math, gratefully wrapped his arms around the dog's ruff ,,j wish you'd bite him," he whispered, but without any faith that M^^ would. Gruffydd would give him bones and win him over. Why sh^uld ^aih be any different than Papa, or Elen and Gwladys? They all tl^o ht Gruffydd was wonderful, that he could do no wrong. He was the onl one in all of Dolwyddelan who was sorry that Gruffydd had con1e uome.
He heard his father say, "And you actuaU refused to write the letter? You turned John down?" He soundec) SQ amused, so proud, that Davydd felt tears prick his eyes. Never had ^e fglt SO alone. But at that moment he saw his mother. Joanna was stancjine by one of the hall screens. She, too, was watching Gruffydd a^j T jevvrelyn. Davydd's unhappiness had honed his insight, and the loc^ on his mother's face gave him sudden, surprised comfort. He was not: ai ne after all. Mama was sorry, too, that Gruffydd was back.

7"
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ABER, NORTH WALES
M/1215
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should you be at John's beTLT^Yn1? *? "" ^ SUmm°ns! WhJ a lackey of the
English King* * ^ °f N°rth Wales' «*
It was suddenly very still in the hall T i i surprise, turned thoughtful brow "welyn swung around «
I do not see myself as Ior,n'^77 T Uptm hJS e'dest Son' "For «t«, princes of
WaTe^a "stlsof fh /' r"! ** ^ b' ^^^ that the rights in summoning ^ to his^
ourt to§ " ^ ^ John iS Within Ws is the price we must pav or th ""^ °Ur °aths of homage' Tha'
^^.ni^^2r^^^Mfaftea»^
I have to do it nonetheless" P d that J like if ^ But
"I would not."
GwyZ°dUd,WOUld'" UeWe1^ S3id -enly, "^ you were Prince of Pleas'"'8 ^
flickered- "J ^uld think a Prince could do as he
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466
drew farther back into the shadows of the window seat so none could read her face.
"Ednyved, I'll need you with me, and Rhys, too. Morgan? Have you any yearning to see Oxford?"
The priest smiled, shook his head. "My bones are getting too old and brittle for journeys like that."
"What about you, Gruffydd? Would you be willing to come with me?"
Gruffydd raised his head. "The next time I cross the border into England," he said, "it will be at the head of an army."
It had gotten very quiet again. But Llewelyn said only, "As you will." He turned away, crossed the hall, and stopped before Joanna.
"What about you, breilal" he said softly, and with so much understanding that
Joanna suddenly found herself blinking back tears.
"I cannot, Llewelyn. I just cannot face himnot yet."
AS shadows began to spill out of the corners, John called for torches. Dusk was settling over the city, and the sight of that darkening sky filled him with dread. The pain was bad enough during the day, but at night it became intolerable. And there seemed to be little his doctors could do They mumbled that gout rarely struck in summer, admitted they knew neither its cause nor its cure, had no greater comfort to offer than their assurances that such an attack usually ran its course within ten days.
With infinite care, John shifted position. He was among men he trusted: his
Justiciar, Hubert de Burgh; the Earls of Chester and Pembroke; his cousin
Warenne. But even with them he was unwilling to show weakness, to reveal the full extent of his suffering. "It's been over a month since we met at
Runnymede. In that month I've released hostages, dismissed some of my Poitevin captains, granted Hertford Castle to Fitz Walter, Fotheringhay to the Earl of
Huntingdon, Mountsorrel to that turncoat de Quincy. And what have they done?
They've fortified their castles for war, defied officers of the crown, refused to give me a written pledge of their loyalty. And still they hold London!"
"We may be able to reach a compromise there, Your Grace. I"1 Archbishop of
Canterbury is sorely distressed by their intransigenc but he still thinks he can persuade them to yield control of the city' August, on the feast of the
Assumptionprovided that all have ta oaths of obedience to their twenty-five by then, and that you have sa fied their claims for disputed castles." u
"You call that a compromise, Hubert? By those terms they c°u^? justify holding
London till Judgment Day! Satisfy their claims, y°u ^