The Reckoning - 3 (24 page)

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"What are you saying, that he seeks to satisfy a debt of honor?"
"Yes, Madame, he does." He saw her brows draw together and added hastily, "I
do not mean to imply that wedding your daughter is in any sense a sacrifice.
She is Plantagenet and de Montfort; if there is any better blood in
Christendom, it is to be found only in Wales!" That won him a smile, and he relaxed. "Moreover, Madame, the Lady Ellen is said to be a beauty . . . and having seen her mother, I cannot doubt it."
"I had no idea that men of God were so gallant." If her words were wry, Nell's smile was dazzling. Her blinding, sunburst happiness did not deter her, though, from continuing her interrogation, not with so much at stake. "And what of Edward? My daughter is, as you say, beautiful and well-bred. She ought to have been wed years ago. But men fear the English King far too much to risk his wrath. If Llewelyn weds my daughter, Edward will be outraged."
Friar Gwilym grinned. "I'd wager, Madame, that Prince Llewelyn is counting upon that!"
Nell grinned, too; she had to, for she'd tweaked the lion's tail a time or two herself. "I thank you for your candor. I understand now why your lord seeks my daughter as his wife, and I approve." Holding up her hand before he could respond. "Wait, hear me out. When my husband and Prince Llewelyn agreed to the plight troth, it was only fitting that we should speak for Ellen; she was still a child, not yet thirteen. My daughter is now a woman grown, has the right to speak for herself. As I said, you have my approval. But you need her consent."
FRIAR GWILYM was impressed by Ellen de Montfort's beauty, but at the same time, he felt a sudden unease, for he found her to be impossible to read. Her initial, obvious shock had given way almost at once to an impenetrable, protective poise. She had murmured a conventional courtesy, that Prince
Llewelyn did her great honor, then moved, as if by chance, toward the window.
Studying her profile in vain for clues, it occurred to him for the first time that she might balk. He knew that, to many Englishwomen, not even the prospect of a crown would be enough to lure them into Wales. What if this girl shared that common bias, if she, too, thought that Wales was a backward, barren land, that the Welsh were as sinful and wild as the English claimed? He knew his
Prince's heart was now set upon Ellen de Montfort. How could he face Uewelyn if he failed?
"I realize, my lady, that this is a decision of grave moment. I know my lord would not begrudge you the time you need. If you wish to ftink his offer over
. . . ?"

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Ellen turned from the window. "That will not be necessary. I ail prepared to give you my answer now. It was my father's wish that! wed Prince Llewelyn. I
need no more guidance than that, for I havi utter faith in my father's judgment."
"You accept, then?" And when she nodded, he began to beam. "Ah, my lady, you have just made two men very happy, a Prince of Wales and a humble Franciscan friar!"
I "Not to mention a papal chaplain," Amaury chimed in, and with that, they all were laughing.
Friar Gwilym hastened over to kiss Ellen's hand. "We have much to discuss. But
I have a confession to make first. I am well nigh famished. Ere I pay my respects to the Prioress, might I have a meal?"
Amaury put his arm around the friar's shoulders, deftly steered him toward the door. "Gwilym, you are about to get the best meal of your life, that I promise you upon the honor of the entire de Montfort clan!"
As soon as they were alone again, Ellen flung her arms about her brother's neck. He laughed, whirled her around until they were both reeling and breathless. And as Nell watched, she felt tears pricking her lids, for
Amaury's jubilant gesture was too familiar; it could have been Bran or Harry swinging Ellen in those giddy circles.
Reluctantly setting Ellen on her feet again, Amaury promised to be back "as soon as I get our good friar fed." Ellen at once sped across the chamber and dropped to her knees by Nell's chair.
"After Papa was killed and we had to leave England, I spun such romantic dreams, Mama. I was the damsel in distress and Llewelyn was my savior. In my darkest hour, he would ride up on his white horse and carry me away to his kingdom in Wales, having realized that we were fated to be together. Like
Tristan and Iseult, Guinevere and Lancelot, my aunt Joanna and Llewelyn Fawr!
Oh, I know they were foolish fantasies. I always knew that. Even though they did give me a measure of comfort, I never truly believed in them . . ."
"I know, love. But mayhap we should have!"
Ellen smiled, then confided, "I am not sure I believe it even now! I'll be back after I tell Juliana."
She was on her feet in an instant, dancing toward the door with a supple grace that Nell could not help envying, for her own body had once served her just as effortlessly. It was not death she despised, but that it had come to her in such an incapacitating, drawn-out guise. She would have preferred the sword to dropsy, would have chosen a bloody death over a lingering one. But nothingnot her chronic shortness of breath, not her heart palpitations, no amount of pain or weakness could tarnish the triumph of this moment for her. As she watched her i

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hter glide across the chamber, her feet scarcely touching the floor, Mell had rarelv been so haPPy' or so at Peace-
Reaching the door, Ellen stopped suddenly, spun around to look her mother. "It is almost like a miracle, Mama," she said in wonderment, and
Nell nodded.
"Indeed, Ellen, it is," she agreed, no less gravely. And then she
1 Ughed, the husky, free-soaring laugh of the young girl she'd once been, the girl who had defied a King and a Pope to wed the man of her choice. "It would seem," she said, "that it pays to have a saint in the family!"
NEIL'S dreams were deeply rooted in her yesterdays. They were, for the most part, tranquil and reassuringly familiar. With the blurring of time's boundaries, her loved ones were restored to her, her family was once more intact, inviolate. She awakened from such dreams with regret, often with confusion. So it was now. The darkness was aswirl with floating lights; they swam before her dazzled eyes like phosphorescent fish in a black, black sea.
For a moment she was lost, adrift on unknown currents. But as her eyes adjusted to the dark, the fish transformed themselves into the flickering flames of a servant's candelabra, and she returned to reality with a rueful smile. This was no alien world. She was in her chamber at Montargis, on an
April eve in Holy Week, and although death waited in the shadows, she had nothing to fear, for she had made her peace with God.
There was a great comfort in knowing that all had been done. Her confessor had shriven her of her earthly sins, her will had been made, and she'd arranged for largesse to be distributed to members of her household, to the nuns and villagers who'd sought to make her exile easier. Nothing remained now except her farewells.
She was drifting back toward sleep when she heard familiar footsteps. "Mama, are you awake?" Bending over the bed, Ellen kissed her forehead. "Marguerite is here."
Nell welcomed the French Queen with a drowsy smile, thinking how lucky she was to have those she loved at her deathbed. Not all were so fortunate; her father, King John, had died alone and unturned.
Marguerite could not conceal her shock; Nell had retained her good
°oks even as she aged, but dropsy had proven to be a more merciless
06 than the advancing years. Nell gently squeezed the fingers clasped
"* "ers, a wordless reassurance. "Marguerite . . ." The other woman
§§ed her not to speak, to save her strength, but she knew better,

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knew how little time was left to her. "Dearest, I have a favor to ask of you.
I made my will ..." She could go no further, began to cough Amaury hastened over with an herbal potion, and Ellen held the cup while Nell drank. But as soon as her breath came back, she reached again for Marguerite's hand.
"I want Ellen to have my jewels, Marguerite, except for my ruby pendant. That is for you. I've named Amaury as my heir, for Ellen will have Llewelyn to look after her, and the Church would not allow Guy to inherit. Dearest, will you and Philippe entreat Edward on my behalf, ask him to allow my will to be carried out? And . . . and urge him to be fair to my son. Amaury is innocent, should not have to pay for Guy's sins. Make Edward see that, Marguerite, make him see that he ought to let Amaury come home ..."
"Of course we will, Nell." Marguerite tried to sound confident, as if she truly believed that Edward would heed them. But then, she doubted if Nell believed it, either. "Nell, you must not give up. I spoke to your doctor and he still has hope, thinks you might yet rally ..."
"Simon does not think so," Nell said softly, and then smiled at the startled, dismayed looks on their faces. "My wits are not wandering. I always knew that
Simon would come for me when my time was nigh. And now . . . now he is close at hand. I can feel his presence . . ."
"Truly, Mama?" Ellen whispered, sounding both awed and envious.
"Truly, love. And you know your father; he's never been one for waiting. He always swore that I'd be late for the Last Judgment. . ." Nell lay back weakly on the pillow, fighting for breath. "I will not let his first words to me be:
'I told you so!' " she said, summoning up one last smile, and her children discovered that it was possible to laugh while blinking back tears.
NELL DE MONTFORT died on Saturday, the 13th of April in God's Year, 1275, and was buried, in accordance with her wishes, in a quiet, simple ceremony at the priory church; her heart was taken to Paris, to be interred at the Abbey of St Antoine-des-Champs.
The following morning was mild and sun-splashed, an ideal day for travel.
Friar Gwilym's escort was already mounted, but he still tarried, exchanging farewells with his lord's bride-to-be. Patting the breast of his tunic, he assured Ellen that he'd deliver her letter safely to Prince
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He kissed her hand with somber gallantry. "Once your mourning me is done, my lord will send trusted men to bring you to him. My
1 dv, may ^ cauti°n y°u *° keep our secret close? Were the English King learn of your marriage plans, he would move Heaven and earth to thwart them."
After the friar's departure, Ellen walked across the courtyard to her mother's garden, where she filled a basket with violets and sunlit primroses. As she headed for the church, she was trailed at an unobtrusive distance by Hugh, and paused in the doorway to smile at him, touched by his silent, shadowy devotion. He would, she knew, willingly follow her to Wales, or anywhere else in Christendom, as would Juliana. A pity loyalty was not the coin of the realm; she'd have been a rich woman, indeed.
A hint of incense lingered in the air. Nell had been laid to rest before the
High Altar; the funeral garlands of white and purple periwinkle blossoms had yet to wither, still exuded a light, flowery fragrance. Ellen scattered the violets and primroses about with a lavish hand, wishing that honeysuckle were in season, for her mother had always loved that sweet, heady scent.
"I am glad, Mama, that you are no longer in pain. But oh, how I shall miss you. I would that I could promise to name my first-born daughter after you. I
am not sure, though, if 'Eleanor' can be translated into Welsh." It was strange and somewhat unsettling, the realization that her world would soon be so foreign, so mysterious and unknown; even her language would be alien. But it was exciting, too.
THE rain fell so relentlessly that September that even the Welsh, a people inured to wet weather, began to grumble. It was a very frustrating time for
Llewelyn. He paced the confines of Ewloe Castle as if he were its prisoner, not its Prince, impatiently awaiting word from his emissaries, his uncle
Einion and Maredudd, the Abbott of Aberconwy. They'd crossed the border days ago, and upon their success or failure might well depend the survival of his principality.
The summons had come as no surprise. As England's King, Edward
"ad the right to demand that Llewelyn do homage to him, vassal to uege lord. He had commanded Llewelyn to meet him at Chester. Less nan a dozen miles now separated the two men, but they might as well ave been mired in quicksand. Llewelyn would not do homage as long s Edward harbored the brother and ally who'd betrayed him. And ward would not redress his grievance as long as he refused to do
'tonnage.
" Was to end this dangerous impasse that Llewelyn had sent his

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most eloquent envoys to Chester, in the hopes that a compromise might still be reached. But with each passing day, that seemed less and less likely. And so, when a shout from the castle battlements signaled in. coming riders, Llewelyn crossed to the window with a leaden step already braced for bad news.
The men ushered into the hall were shrouded in dripping, muddied mantles. As they jerked their hoods off, their tense, unhappy faces told all with no need of words. There were a few indrawn breaths, a few involuntary curses, and most drew back as they passed, as if failure, like plague, was catching.
Their uncle-nephew bond had always amused Einion and Llewelyn, for in age they were contemporaries; Einion was only seven years Llewelyn's senior. But he seemed to have added another decade in Chester; never had Llewelyn seen him look so haggard. "We tried," he said huskily. "As God is my witness, we did try."
Llewelyn asked no questions. There would be time for that later The spectre of war was never far from Wales, but now it was right there in the hall with them. Edward was no man to defy with impunity. But to yield would be to abdicate in all but name. And how long would the Welsh follow a puppet Prince?
Blood in the snow invariably attracted wolves.
Llewelyn could see his own thoughts reflected on the faces of his companions.
It was Tudur who gave voice to their common concern. "If you balk, you'd best be ready to face Edward on the field, and we'd be fools to forget that he not only outfought Simon de Montfort at Evesham, he outwitted him, led him into a death trap as slick as you please. But if you do homage to Edward whilst he continues to shelter and befriend Davydd and Graffydd ap Gwenwynwyn, what would your crown be worth? Your enemies would see it as weakness, Llewelyn, and I'd wager that Edward would, too. If you are going to risk all no matter what you do, then by God, follow your heart."
They were looking at him intently, expectantly, awaiting his decision. But there was no suspense in their silence, for all knew what he would do, what he had to do.
Llewelyn moved back to the window, stood gazing out upon the nested, sodden hills. His enemies often accused him of arrogance, and it was true that he could be imperious and arbitrary. But he was driven by demons bred of his own success, the dark side of his grandfather's legacy. Llewelyn Fawr had unified
Wales, dictated peace terms to two English Kings, and by the time he died, even his foes called him Llewety11 the Great. Yet his triumphs had been as ephemeral, as fleeting as the good faith of the English Crown. His sons and grandsons lived to see the wreckage of his splendid, shining world; in seven short years, a