Here Be Dragons - 1 (79 page)

BOOK TWO

WINDSOR, ENGLAND
September 1217
A\T the time of John's death, Louis exercised authority over half of John's realm. London was his, and his ally, the notorious pirate and freebooter
Eustace the Monk, claimed dominion of the seas, operating at will from his base in the Channel Islands. But an anti-French antagonism was taking root in the country, and John's death gave many disgruntled rebels the excuse they needed to abandon Louis. Among those who acknowledged the boy King as their sovereign was John's brother Will, Earl of Salisbury.
John's alliance with the Church now stood his young son in good stead. Wales had been under Interdict since November. Louis and the rebel barons had been declared excommunicate, and the papal legate Guala did his best to elevate the conflict into a holy war, encouraging Henry's supporters to wear the white crosses of crusaders. Coming under such intense pressure from the Holy See, Philip was fast losing all enthusiasm for his son's English adventure. But
Louis was not, and the *ar dragged on through the winter and early spring.
« began to seem as if neither side could score a decisive victory. ,- "'ln mid-May, the Earl of Pembroke learned that Robert Fitz Walter, P 'K Qu*ncv'
ar>d a French force were besieging Lincoln Castle.
Pembroke saw his opportunity to engage them while Louis was oc-
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DV 1 'n another Sie8e °f Dover Castle, and by dawn on May 20, a
- ust army was in sight of Lincoln's city walls.
^n J -h *e castle/s hereditary castellan, Nicholaa de la Haye, had But |yj1
?pn8 a gallant defense, the town was securely in rebel hands. *ekom ° S6nt ^er lieutenant constable out to the royalists with the
5rna" Po '^at S^e cou^ &iye them entry into the castle through a
^Or"iail em d°°r' °nce in the castle' Peter des Roches made a daring nee into the city itself and discovered a gate along the west-

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ern wall, blocked but unguarded. Returning to his companions, h shared this discovery with Chester, Pembroke, and Will, the leaders of the expedition.
While the royalist vanguard sought to batter down the north gate another force gained entry through Peter's hidden gateway, and soon the steep, narrow streets of Lincoln had become a battlefield. By S-QQ P.M. it was over. The
French commander was dead, Fitz Walter and Saer de Quincy were taken prisoner, along with three hundred French knights, and the rest of the French were in flight.
Amazingly enough, only five men were slain in the actual fighting More died, however, on the chaotic retreat back toward London. And when the triumphant royalists sacked the city, many women and children drowned while trying to flee in small boats that capsized in the River Witham.
Their victory was so complete that the jubilant English dubbed it "the Fair of
Lincoln," as if it had been a tournament. But it did not end the war. Louis still believed the English crown was within his grasp, was not willing to concede defeat.
JOANNA reined in, shocked, at first sight of Windsor Castle. She remembered apple orchards, groves of hazelnut and filbert, lush vineyards nurtured since the days of her grandfather's reign. But she saw only scorched, mangled tree stumps, barren and pitted earth where rocks launched from mangonels had gone astray. As she passed into the lower bailey, there, too, she found scars of the castle's three-month siege. There were gaping holes in the ground, the outer timber palisades were blackened, and the stone walls of the middle and inner baileys were gouged and battered.
Even the great hall had not been spared; a section of the roof had suffered a direct hit. Joanna stopped her mare. It had been more than eleven years, but she even remembered the day of the week: Tuesday, May 2, in God's year 1206.
She'd stood with her father here in the bailey, struggling to bid him farewell without tears, still unable to believe that in just nine days she would be the wife of a Welsh Prince. She'd though she had managed to hide her fear from
John, but when they embraced, he hugged her tightly, saying, "You'll have no regrets, sweetheart, promise."
"No regrets," Joanna echoed now, a lifetime later, and then s laughed, a laugh so strained, so lacking in mirth that her men gave looks of curiosity, even of sympathy. After a time, her mare bega ^ fidget. Only then did she bestir herself, shake off her father's spell an cross the drawbridge into the middle bailey.

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The timber buildings constructed by Henry II for his Queen's cornfort were ranged along the north wall of the upper bailey, and they lone seemed unscathed. Joanna was escorted across a grassy courtyard nd into the chamber where Isabelle awaited her.
They were alone; Isabelle had dismissed her own attendants and Joanna's maid.
There was genuine affection in their greetings, animation in their first moments of sharing, but there was a slight wariness, too, as if their intimacy needed to be rediscovered, to be tested anew after a five-year separation.
"Henry had an earache, so I had to put him to bed with a vervain poultice. He is so excited by your coming, so eager to see you," Isabelle said and smiled.
"Being an only child myself, I confess I cannot comprehend his passion for siblings. But nary a day goes by when he does not make wistful mention of
Dickon, even of Nell and Isabella, and they're just babes."
"They're still at Corfe?" Joanna's disappointment was sharp, for she'd yet to meet her little sisters.
"Yes, for safety's sake. In fact, dearest, I was not at all sure Llewelyn would allow you to come halfway across England, safe-conduct or not."
"Llewelyn does not know. He's waging war in South Wales, was besieging
Haverford the last I heard from him."
"Well, whatever enabled you toJoanna, you do not yet know, do you? How could you, being on the road all week? There was a great sea battle fought on St
Bartholomew's Day. The war is done, for Louis' hopes sank with his ships. And one of the heroes of the day was your brother!"
"Richard? Or Oliver?"
"Richard. Ah, Joanna, it was a glorious triumph. Robert de Courtenay was bringing reinforcements to Louis; they had a fleet of ten galleys and seventy smaller craft, under the command of Eustace the Monk.
TVi mey meant to sail up the Thames to London, but our ships caught up wrth them at the mouth of the estuary. Richard brought his ship along-
Slde Eustace's, and a cog commanded by John Marshal came up on the
"'her side. The Monk had an enormous galley, but it was carrying orses and a heavy trebuchet, and was riding so low in the water that e deck was almost awash. Our cog was to windward, and the sailors
, ,revv down pots of powdered quicklime onto the French, temporarily
'nding them. Richard and his men at once boarded the galley, and in
"ghting that followed, all of the French knightsthirty-sixwere fe n captive. Eustace the Monk was found hiding in the hold. He of-
.. a thousand marks for his life, but Richard had him beheaded on hls own deck.

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"After that, it was a total rout. Although we were greatly outrun^ bered, the
French panicked once the Monk's ship was taken. Some of the galleys made it back to Calais, but all of the smaller ships were sunk or captured. Only the highborn knights were spared, all others being thrown into the sea. Much booty was taken and shared amongst our sailors afterward, with some set aside by the
Earl of Pembroke to found a hospital in honor of St Bartholomew. The day's glory belonged to Hubert de Burgh, who commanded our fleetand to Richard."
Isabelle at last paused for breath. "John would have been very proud of him."
"Yes," Joanna agreed softly, "he would."
"Pembroke sent Robert de Courtenay to Louis." Seeing Joanna belatedly react to the name Courtenay, Isabelle nodded, said dryly, "Yes he's my uncle, my mother's brother. He brought back word from London that Louis is now willing to make peace, to depart the kingdom. He meets on Tuesday with Pembroke and
Hubert de Burgh to discuss terms."
"I'm glad."
"Are you truly, Joanna? After all, Llewelyn is allied with Louis ..."
"But Henry is my brother. Of course I want him to win."
"What is troubling you, then? Is it that you think Llewelyn may not be willing to make peace with Henry?"
"No, it's not that. Llewelyn will eventually come to terms with the English .
. . once they make it worth his while."
Isabelle had rarely heard Joanna sound so cynical, but she was amused nonetheless. "Your husband can charm, but he can also calculate finely enough to split hairs. In that, he's always reminded me of John," she said, and laughed. But Joanna did not. "Joanna . . . what is it? Is it Llewelyn?"
Joanna hesitated. "Yes." Rising, she moved restlessly to the window. "It began this summer, when Reginald de Braose submitted to Henry. To the Welsh, that was a betrayal. Llewelyn was furious, made up his mind to teach Reginald a sharp lesson. But I... I could not see it in the same light. I could think only of Gwladystorn between husband and father. We quarreled, and he departed with angry words between us. As it turned out, he brought Reginald to heel in short order. He swept into Brecknock, and as soon as he crossed the border into Cower, Reginald hastened to meet him at Llangiwg, humbled his pride a yielded up the castle of Swansea to Llewelyn. It was a quick and bio less triumph for the Prince. But an utter failure for the father."
"Was Gwladys very distraught?" .,g
"No," Joanna said reluctantly, and then managed a rueful s "In truth, she was not. Llewelyn can do no wrong in her eyes, an hinks he was perfectly justified. To Gwladys, there is but one side to any quarrelthe Welsh."
"I see. Well, then, do you not think you may have . . . overreacted somewhat?"
"You need not be so tactful. Say what you mean, that I was really eacting to past pain of my own. Of course I was. But that does not hange the fact that
Llewelyn put political aims above his daughter's welfare-"
"Darling, men do that all the time. At least, ambitious men do ... and is there any other kind?" Isabelle rose, too, followed Joanna to the window. "I
arn sorry, though, Joanna. I've known a few women who were well and truly in love. But you were the only one in love with her Ovvn husband! I admit I never thought it would last, yet I hoped for your sake that it might."
Joanna had been listening in surprise. "I once told Llewelyn that I did not always like him, and this summer was for certes one of those times. But I
still do love him, Isabelle . . . and fear for him. Over the past eleven years, I've learned to live with his wars, with the knowledge that a well-aimed spear or arrow could make me a widow at any moment. But now . . .
now he is under sentence of excommunication, and that pushes my fear beyond endurance. I'll not deny I find it hard, knowing he is always going to put
Gwynedd first. But he found it hard, too, being wed to John's daughter. And no

matter how angry he makes me, I could not envision my life without him . . .
even now, when our marriage is admittedly at low tide!"
"I am glad, Joanna," Isabelle said, and meant it, although she remained convinced that a love so intense was no gift of God. "Now tell me," she said, because she knew it would please Joanna, "about Elen and your Davydd. From your letters, I suspect that he is your favorite, no?"
"No!" Joanna protested swiftly, if not altogether convincingly. "I
'°ve Elen dearly. But ... I just cannot understand her as I would like.
° matter how I try, there remains a barrier between us, one I've not
^n able to breach. With Davydd it's different, mayhap because I see so
Ucn of myself in him. I know what he is thinking and feeling and reaming; even without words, I know."
''And what of the snake in your Eden? What of Gruffydd?" abl a's reaction was a revealing one. Her mouth tightened notice-
"£) an" her eyes darkened; at that moment she looked very like John. has i
W'^ ke nme m November. Gruffydd is one and twenty . . . and . r§e following amongst Llewelyn's people."
ot surprising. He's a handsome youth, and there's something

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utterly compelling about his sort of recklessness. It's rather lik ing an avalanche; you do not want to get caught up in it, but fo at<^~ you cannot ignore it, either. You're saying, then, that the Welsh ^^ him as Llewelyn's rightful heir?" 8ard
Joanna nodded. "If it were left to the Welsh, it would be no c would be
Gruffydd by acclamation. And Llewelyn loves him ^ much, puts up with outrageous behavior he'd not tolerate from a u^ living soul because of that love. As for Gruffydd, I sometimes think x* hatred of England borders upon madness, for it is so irnpassio PH*
so ... so utterly implacable. He despises me, of course, and is
Wildly jealous of Davydd. You want the truth, Isabelle? I think I was not much angry with Llewelyn over Gwladys as over Gruffydd. You see when Llewelyn led his army into Reginald's lands and then against th' Flemings in Rhos, he was not just risking his own life. He was risking Davydd's, too."
"I do not know what to tell you, Joanna," Isabelle said and sighed "I know what John would have said, though. He'd have said this was one of God's more macabre jests. Your son's danger will not cease till the day Gruffydd draws his last breath. Yet Gruffydd lives because of you. John spared him for you, because he thought you wanted that. He'd have sent Gruffydd to the gallows in a trice if you'd only asked . . ." Isabelle sighed again. "I so wish you'd come to him at Oxford, Joanna. It hurt him grievously that you did not."
"I could not!" Joanna's face was flaming. "I had no choice, had to put my husband and children first, and I'll not feel guilty about it!"
"Then why," Isabelle said coldly, "are you so angry?"
Joanna said nothing; her throat was suddenly too tight for speech. She turned abruptly away, back toward the window. She was still in profile; Isabelle could see how long it took for the color to fade from her face, and her own anger ebbed away. She reached out, touched Joanna s shoulder. Joanna spun around and they embraced, clung together in one of the most intense yet ephemeral of bonds, the solidarity o shared loss.
"I'm sorry, Joanna. I never meant to hurt you." Isabelle's cnee wet with
Joanna's tears; she wiped them away, gave the y0""^ woman an apologetic hug.
"But I need to talk about John, and you only" ,e^ei
"I cannot." Joanna's voice was muffled, all but inaudible. I cannot..." mon'n5
"I know you're grieving. But Joanna, so am I. These las have been the most wretched of my life!" . ^i'J>
Joanna had rarely heard Isabelle speak with such emotio ,