The Reckoning - 3 (43 page)

252
taking the King of England as an ally. Edward's ally? Or his dup > Davydd came to an abrupt halt on the cloister path. Christ, now he \v beginning to sound like Llewelyn, even to himself
Those would have been Llewelyn's very words, though. Edward' dupe. He could well imagine the scornful sound of them, the dis dainful tone, Almighty God talking down to mere mortals, to feckles younger brothers. Well, death stilled the most insistent voice, even Llewelyn's.
' Cistercian abbeys were meant to be havens of calm, spiritual sanctuaries untouched by the turmoil and chaos of the real world. But such cloistered serenity could not withstand the arrival of a royal army; reality had intruded with a vengeance, penetrating into every quiet corner of their earthly refuge.
As he stood in the sunlight of the inner garth, there came to Davydd a cacophony of sound, raucous, strident, assailing his ears, grating upon his nerves.
Many of Edward's workmen and men-at-arms were camped three miles away, at the site of the new castle, already christened "Flynt" by Edward. Others had pushed on toward Rhuddlan. For more than two hundred years, a castle had guarded the mouth of the River Clwyd, Welsh or English, depending upon the ebb and flow of border warfare. Llewelyn had held Rhuddlan since 1263, but now it was back in English hands. Edward's ambitions were not about to be satisfied, though, by such a simple motte and bailey structure; he'd begun to draw up plans for a new castle downstream.
Yet a third castle was to be erected farther upstream at Ruthin, but it was
Rhuddlan that preyed upon Davydd's peace; he'd been astounded by the sheer magnitude of Edward's undertaking. Not only would the castle itself be the most formidable stronghold in all of North Wales, Edward even meant to divert the course of the River Clwyd, meandering and shallow as it neared the sea.
Davydd had listened, stunned, as Edward explained how he would dig a two-mile channel, deep enough for English ships. The garrison could never be starved out then, he said, could outlast any Welsh siege, and Davydd, nodding numbed agreement, knew then and there that his brother was doomed. How could Llewelyn hope to repel an enemy able to impose his will upon the very rivers of their land?
He heard now the shouts that heralded the arrival of the expected supply carts, loaded with crossbow bolts, limestone, pickaxes and chisels and saws and hammers, thick sides of bacon and sacks of flour and salt, plus five barrels full of silver pennies, pay for the men aiding and abetting the
English King's conquest of Wales.
A goodly portion of those men were Welsh, too. He ought not to forget that. He was not the only Welshman to side with the Crown

253
ajnst Llewelyn. Their numbers were legion, some motivated by the oney/ others aggrieved by Llewelyn's high-handed ways. But had any f them truly considered the consequences of an English victory? Had
, ey thought what life might be like under Edward's rule? Llewelyn had, for certes. "Edward is a crusader King. He'd open the flood-gates to English settlers, charter English towns on Welsh soil, turn Gwynedd into an English shire." Davydd's mouth twisted down. One conscience was burden enough for any sensible man. Why was he of a sudden accursed with two, his own and his brother's?
"My lord Davydd!" Davydd turned, and then swore under his breath, for Hugh de
Whitton was hastening toward him. "The camp is awash in rumors. Men are saying that the King told his council it is to be war to the utmost, with no quarter given. You were there. Is it true?"
"Well . . . they are about to carve up the pie. "Hugh frowned, looking so earnest, so honorable, so steadfast, that Davydd wanted suddenly to see him shaken out of that righteous rectitude. "I can tell you this much, that you'd best hope your lady looks good in black." He got what he wanted; Hugh could not hide his dismay. But the satisfaction it gave him was spurious, the sort to leave a sour after-taste.
MONKS were pacing the walkways, paying no heed to Davydd and Hugh. But there was one very intent eye-witness. Sheltered within one of the shaded study carrels along the church's north wall, Rhodri ap Gruffydd had been watching his brother from the moment Davydd entered the cloister garth, waiting for
Davydd to notice him.
Rhodri was better informed than Hugh, for Edward had spared him the indignity of finding out from camp gossip. He had not been surprised by Edward's disclosure, that once again Davydd had managed to land on his feet, with all nine lives intact. None knew better than he that sooner or later, Davydd always got what he wanted.
But he had been deeply shocked to learn that Owain was to be elevated from prisoner to reigning Prince. Why Owain? Why a soured, faed old man long past his prime? Why Owain and not him?
There may have been a time when he'd pitied Owain's plighta httle. No more than that, though, for Owain had always been a stranger. Wenty years Rhodri's senior, brusque and quick-tempered, Owain had played no role in Rhodri's life;
he'd seemed as remote as the father who'd died when Rhodri was five. Llewelyn had been the elder brother ^ho'd matteredonce. He, too, had seemed remote, beyond reach. But "e eleven years between them had not been as formidable a barrier, ^d as Rhodri entered his teens, Llewelyn's star was already rising.

254
Rhodri had been proud of his brother's renown. He might even hav been content with Llewelyn's casual kindness, Owain's benign indjf ferencehad it not been for Davydd, Davydd whom they loved.
Rhodri had not begrudged Davydd that love, not at first, for he'd loved
Davydd, too. Davydd had been all that Rhodri so desperatel wanted to be himself, cocksure and droll and game for anything. Noth ing ever daunted
Davydd, not even a childhood as odd and unstable as theirs had been, seven years as hostages of the English Crown. Rhodri thought it only natural that
Davydd should be the one favored, indulged wanted. Even when the English King demanded a hostage again and he was sent back to England, at age eleven, even then he understood why it must be him and not Davydd. Or so he told himself.
And when Owain began a war with Llewelyn on Davydd's behalf Rhodri sought to understand that, too. Owain had paid a high price, two decades at Dolbadarn
Castle, but Davydd had been forgiven. Less than seven years later, he'd rebelled a second time, and when he fled to England, Rhodri waited, patiently, for Llewelyn to turn to him. It never happened. Instead, Davydd was forgiven yet again.
Rhodri was never sure when he'd begun to hate Llewelyn, but he knew exactly when he'd begun to hate Davyddwhen he came back from English exile, jaunty, unrepentant, still able to take from Rhodri without even trying. Rhodri supposed it had always been that way. But he was no longer that bedazzled little brother, satisfied with their leavings. And so he'd tried to claim his fair share of Gwynedd, succeeded in attracting Llewelyn's attention at last;
his brother cast him into prison. Owain's captivity was a source of some controversy. He had many sympathizers among those who held to the old ways, the old laws. Bards sang of Owain's lonely days at Dolbadarn, compared him to a caged eagle. When Rhodri was imprisoned, no one protested, and when he was freed, no one noticed.
Defecting to the English King had been Rhodri's vengeance. But that had not worked out, eitherbecause of Davydd. Always Davydd. He seemed to have won over
Edward as easily as he'd once beguiled Owain and Llewelyn. Rhodri was awed by the English King's generosity. He'd given Davydd his own kinswoman, an heiress who doted upon Davydd's every whim. He'd granted Davydd the use of a Cheshire manor. Just a fortnight ago, he'd even knighted Davydd. That might not be a
Welsh custom, but it was a notable honor, one Rhodri would have cherished.
Instead it had gone to Davydd, who cared naught for English accolades, joking that he'd rather be St Davydd than Sir Davydd. No, nothing had changed. Edward paid him two shillings a day, whilst Davydd was to be rewarded with a crown.
Nothing had changed at all.
Rhodri stiffened suddenly, for Davydd had turned away fronl

255
Hugh/ was striding rapidly up the pathway. But he did not glance in Rhodn's direction, passed the carrel without looking within. Rhodri said nothing' let him go by.
early September, an English army landed on the island of Mon. The soldiers were accompanied by more than two hundred reapers, and VVelsh wheat soon fell to English scythes and sickles. At the same time, Edward moved west along the coast to the ruins of Deganwy Castle, razed to the ground by Llewelyn in more auspicious days. The River Conwy had always proved to be a formidable barrier for English invaders; only once in the past hundred years had it been crossed.
But now Edward was in a position to strike from Mon, threatening Llewelyn's flank. The Welsh were masters at guerrilla warfare; despite the uneven odds, Llewelyn might have held his own had Edward attempted to follow him into the soaring, sky-high heartland of his realm. But Edward did not. He kept to the coast, and kept up the pressure. A deadly waiting game had developed. If the alpine citadel of Eryri was Llewelyn's most invincible fortress, it was now a citadel under siege.
DOLWYDDELAN was where Llewelyn stored his coffer chests, jewels, English money, for no Welsh prince minted his own coins. But Dolwyddelan held another treasure-trove, one made of memories. It had always been his favorite castle, the place where he felt most at peace. He'd walked by the river with his grandfather, hunted on the wooded slopes of Moel Siabod, taken more than one woman to see Rhaeadr Ewynnol by moonlight, and he'd once hoped to show Ellen de Montfort the view from the castle battlementsmountains and sky and a deep forest glen, festooned by a flowing ribbon of river, a haven to rival any earthly Eden.
The autumn was not a season he liked, winter's accomplice, slowly, inexorably stealing the daylight and icing the heights of Eryri. Llewelyn, a man who'd spent much of his life sleeping around campfires, living m the saddle, braving snow and drenching rains, harbored a secret loathing of the cold. But he knew that, even in springtime, the Lledr Valley would never look as beautiful as it did now, aflame with October golds and reds and burnished browns. There were hawthorn bushes by the river as bright and clear as claret, and mountain ash the shade of Welted honey, rustling clouds of oak and alder, leaves swirling upon a deceptively mild breeze, the merest whisper of the winter winds to come.
'Uncle?" Caitlin burst through the doorway onto the battlements,

256
disheveled and out of breath. She'd climbed the stairs so rapidly that she had to grab on to the closest merlon for support, waiting for the stitch in her side to ease. "I've been searching for you everywhere," she panted. "Is ... is it true? Are you going to surrender to the English King?"
"Yes."
"But... but why?"
f "Because," Llewelyn said tiredly, "this is a war I cannot hope to win."
Caitlin hastened along the parapet. "I do not understand. Why can you not stay here at Dolwyddelan, where you're safe, wait for the English King to lose heart and go home?"
"He is not going anywhere, lass, not until he has my seal upon a treaty of surrender ... or my head upon a pike. England is so much larger than Wales, so much richer . . . and so many of our people do not fully comprehend the danger, even now. We dwell on the very brink of a cliff, and if we've managed so far to avoid plunging into the abyss, it is only because no English king was willing to commit all the resources of the Crown to a war with Walesuntil now. That is the message Edward was sending me when he struck that devil's deal with Davydd. There'll be no winter respite for us, no English withdrawal till the spring thaw. Edward is the first of their kings able to sustain a winter campaign, and if need be, he will."
"Because of the grain he stole?"
Llewelyn nodded. "That was a two-edged theft, hurting us as much as it helped him. But his true power lies in his fleet. If he cannot be starved out, Caitlin, how can he lose? He is building castles to last until Judgment Day, putting down roots so deep he'll never be dislodged. If he can claim Eryri, tooor give it over to a puppet Welsh prince of his choosingwe will never be able to throw off the English yoke . . . never. Unless I can hold on to Eryri, the land west of the Conwy, we are well and truly doomed."
"But what can you gain by surrendering? Even if you are bound to lose, why make it easy for Edward? Why put the noose around your own neck?"
"My defeat may well be inevitable, lass, but it would also be prolonged, costly, and bloody. I said Edward could fight a winter campaign; I did not say he'd want to do so. As long as I've not been defeated on the field, I do not come empty-handed to the bargaining table. By yielding now, I have a chance to save Gwynedd from utter destruction. Id be sparing our people further suffering, a winter haunted by famineAnd I'd be gaining Ellen her freedom.
I'll not deny the danger involved* but with so much at stake, it is a risk worth taking."

257
Caitlin did not agree. "Uncle Llewelyn, please do not do this! The cnglish
King cannot be trusted. Did you not tell me that Edward's word would not bear a feather's weight? You said he'd left a trail of broken oaths across the length and breadth of England, that he'd made a truce with Harry de Montfort when he was trapped in Gloucester Castle, only to recant as soon as Harry rode away, and Harry was his friend!" She vvas running out of breath by now, but she plunged on, as if he might reconsider if only he'd hear her out. "You said he even dared to renege upon an oath given to the Bishop of Worcester, and . .
. and when London's Mayor trusted to his safe-conduct after Evesham, he threw the poor man into a Windsor dungeon! Why should he not do the same to you?
What is to keep him from casting you into a dungeon, too, once you're in his power?"
"Nothing," Llewelyn admitted reluctantly. "I'll not lie to you, lass. If I
ride into Edward's camp, I may not ride out. Since I cannot trust in Edward's good faith, I shall have to put my trust in the Almighty."
"I am sure your father trusted in God, too. But he still spent his last days in an English prison! How can you hold your own life so cheaply? Are you not afraid?"
"Not being a fool, of course I am," Llewelyn snapped. But she was not quick enough; as she turned away, he saw how her mouth was trembling. Thirteen had been a troubled age for him; he'd never felt utterly at ease, even in his own body, no longer a child, not yet a man, buffeted by emotions and urges beyond his ken. Thirteen was an odd and unsettling time for lasses, too, he was discovering; in the past year, he'd learned to stand aside, to let his niece try her fledgling wings, flutter to earth, then try again. She was angrily blinking back tears now, Caitlin who never cried, and he reached out, grasped her shoulders, and drew her toward him.
"Listen to me, lass. I must do this. You'd not believe me if I said it was going to be easy for me. Even if Edward does keep faith, it will be the most difficult thing I've ever done, in this life or the next, I'd wager. Now I
need you to accept what must be, just as I must. Can you do that for me, Caitlin?"
She bit her lip, nodded. "But. . . but what if Edward does not keep raith?"
she whispered, and he hid a smile, marveling that such a fey little creature, as fine-boned and fragile as a bird in the hand, could be as stubbornly tenacious as a bear-baiting mastiff.
"Sufficient unto the day is the evil thereof," he said softly. "Do you ^ow what that means, lass?"
"It... it is from Scriptures, I think," she ventured, "but . . ."
"It means that we'd do better to face our troubles as they come, °ne at a time. I want you to keep that in mind."