The Reckoning - 3 (53 page)

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"I thought you gave her that white mare?"
"I did. When I found out that my grandfather had given Joanna a mare on their wedding day, I knew nothing would please Ellen more Whilst we were at
Rhuddlan, I asked her if she wanted a new wedding ring, too, but she said no, that the one she'd been given in France had been a talisman for her during these past months. So we'll have it blessed anew by the Bishop during the ceremony. But I got the idea then, to give her this." Llewelyn held up a circular silver brooch for Einion's inspection. "The inside of her ring is engraved in French with 'You are my heart's joy.' I had this brooch engraved with the same words, in Welsh!"
The expression was a conventional motto, to be found in many wedding bands and lover's rings, in itself meant little. But Llewelyn's smile gave it an echo of truth. He seemed to sense that himself, for he laughed suddenly. "Do I sound like one of those lovesick fools the bards like to sing about? Jesu, I hope not! But in truth, Einion, Ellen is indeed special."
Einion agreed that she was, with such evident sincerity that Llewelyn felt a surprising surge of pleasure; he was only now discovering how much it pleased him to hear Ellen praised. "You and I can see her virtues easily enough, but will our people? Joanna was never popular with the Welsh. Tell me the truth, Einion. Do you think Ellen will fare better?"
Einion did not give a snap reply, for that was a serious query, deserving of serious consideration; a ruler's troubles could be cornpounded by an unpopular consort. Henry Ill's subjects had detested his French Queen, blaming Henry both for his own flaws and hers, too. But Einion knew that if the man was securely in power, the impact would be negligible, as was the case with
Llewelyn's grandfather. Or Edward, for Eleanora was not beloved by the
English, who suspected her of being grasping, and convicted her of being foreign. Edward was too well entrenched, though, for whispers and gossip to matter. Whether that was still true or not for Llewelyn, Einion did not know.
"You were too young to remember much about Joanna," he said slowly. "I do, though. She was shy in public, and people oft-times thought her aloof, even arrogant, when nothing could be further from the truth. Then, too, she squandered whatever good will she'd earned over the years with that one mad act, taking a lover, and an English lover at that. Even from the first, though, our people viewed her askance, f°r there were those who could not forgive her for a sin of birth, for being King John's daughter. But I think
Ellen has already won Welsh sy^' pathy; who'd not pity her plight these three years past? Nor is she sh/'
your lady, will find it easier than Joanna to woo Welsh hearts. And our people are not likely to blame her for her kinship to the English King, for who does not know about Evesham?"
Llewelyn gave him a sharp, probing look, for between them, there was not always a need of words. "You see it, too," he said, and Einion nodded.
"Yes," he admitted. "I'll not deny it did surprise me, that she seems so at ease with Edward. I did not expect that."
"Nor did I."
"Have you talked to her about it, Llewelyn?"
"No, not yet. We've had so little time together. And ... I thought it would be fairer to Ellen if I wait until she feels at home in Wales, until we know each other better."
"And if she is as fond of him as she seems to be?"
"I doubt that I could ever understand it. But I suppose I'd have to try to accept it." That was a prospect that troubled Llewelyn more than he was willing to admit, even to himself. Today was not the time to dwell upon it, though, and he began to tell Einion about the remarkably vivid names the
English gave to the streets of their towns and cities, about London's
Cheapside, Fish Street, Cock's Lane, and Stinking Lane, about Shrewsbury's
Dogpole, the Shambles, and Grope Lane, where, as a lad of thirteen, he'd seen

his first harlot. He was trying to convince Einion that Worcester really did have a Cut-throat Lane when Goronwy and Dai sought entry.
"Ere we depart for the church, I want to give you these, my lord." Goronwy produced a woven sack, and launched into a perfect mimicry of those glib-tongued, itinerant peddlers who could make wooden beads seem like pearls beyond price. "Well, what do we have here? It looks li^6indeed it isa shard of unicorn horn. Very useful for a man about to dine with the English, for you need only drop it into your wine cup, and lo, it will protect you from poison."
"Whilst mortally offending the English King," Llewelyn said, and they all laughed, envisioning for a moment Edward's incredulous rage at such an insult.
"What?" Goronwy feigned a peddler's dismay. "You'd turn down so rare a relic?
Indeed, my lord, you are a hard man to please. Mayhap this will be more to your liking?"
"What is that?" Llewelyn reached for the root. "A turnip?"
' A turnip? My lord, this is mandragora! Coax your lady into taking ^ one bite, and she will ever after be bedazzled by you, loving, docile, obedient to your every whim."
I'd rather bedazzle her myself." Llewelyn dropped the ugly,

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twisted root back into the sack. "What else have you in your bag Of tricks?"
"You are indeed in luck, my lord, for I have here a patch of wolf's hair, plucked from the rump of a live wolf." With a flourish, Goronwv held it up, scowling at sight of their grins. "Do not scoff, my lords "
he said loftily, "for all know wolf's hair plucked from a live animal
4 will give a man great vigor, enable him to perform truly miraculous ifeats, all night long." Goronwy abandoned the game then, grinned at
Llewelyn. "In truth, I was tempted to keep this for myself. I doubt that you'll have need of it, for I've seen your lady."
Llewelyn laughed. "I'd wager a beautiful woman will always embolden a man more than a clump of fur! What does a man do with this, anyway? Stick it under his pillow? God forbid, swallow it?" They were all laughing now, able to imagine any number of indelicate uses for the wolf charm, and were still laughing when the friary warden ushered in two unexpected guests, the King and his brother.
They both were magnificently attired, Edward in a purple silk tunic under a bright green surcote, and Edmund less colorfully but no less richly dressed in contrasting shades of blue. They were well matched in high spirits, too, for few occasions offered more opportunities for revelry than a wedding.
"The women chased us out," Edward complained cheerfully. "They said they needed time to dress and then to make Ellen ready, and we'd just get underfoot. So we're here to wish you well, and to give you this." He held out a small leather pouch. "The gold and silver to put on the Bishop's plate ere he blesses Ellen's ring."
The coins in question were of no great value, but the gesture was a symbolic one, a sign of royal favor. Brushing aside Llewelyn's thanks, Edward said, with a smile, "I daresay you are still set upon departing for Wales on the morrow. I daresay, too, that you have no idea how much baggage your bride is bringing. You've not yet learned about wives and their chattels, or that after today, you'll not have a coffer chest to call your own. But as one burdened husband to another, I want to pay the costs of transporting Ellen's belongings and the wedding gifts into Wales, as far as ... shall we say Oswestry?"
"That is very generous," Llewelyn said, and got from Edward another smile, a shrug.
"I am very fond of Ellen, want to get her marriage off to a good start. Now, we'd best ride back to the Bishop's Palace, for Eleanora made me swear a blood oath that we'd not be late for the ceremonyEre we go, there is one minor matter to be dealt with, so if I may have a few moments of the Prince's time, I promise that you'll have the res of the dayand nightfor the bridegroom."

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Llewelyn's smile was quizzical and slightly wary, but he took the parchment
Edward was holding out, moved to the window, and began to read. Edward leaned back against the door to wait. Edmund's attention, though, was drawn to an object on the table. "Is that what I think it is? Wolf's hair, right? I hear that it works wonders in bestirring a man's lust/' he said with a grin. "Is it for sale?" Recognizing a kindred spirit, Goronwy grinned back, and they began a bawdy, enthusiastic discussion about the various aids and potions and herbs that were thought to be aphrodisiacs. But then Goronwy happened to glance toward the window, toward his Prince.
"My lord, what is it?" He'd spoken instinctively in Welsh, but Edmund caught the undertones of concern, and turned, too. Llewelyn was staring at Edward; if he'd heard Goronwy, he gave no sign of it.
"Is this some sort of jest?" he said, and there was disbelief in his voice, but also the first flames of a white-hot rage.
"It is," Edward said calmly, "just what it appears to be."
The Welsh were now clustered around Llewelyn, and as they read the document he held, they, too, looked first incredulous, and then, enraged.
"What is happening here?" Getting no answer from Llewelyn, Edmund swung back toward his brother. "Ned, what is this about? What does that charter say?"
"It states that Llewelyn agrees he no longer has the right to offer sanctuary or refuge to men who are the King's enemies. It is not an unreasonable demand," Edward said coolly, "and I do not see why it should stir up such a commotion. It is, after all, merely an admission of the sovereignty of the
English Crown in Wales."
EDMUND had loved his father, but Henry was not a parent a son could take pride in; he was too weak, too ineffectual. As far back as Edmund could remember, though, Edward had filled that void, for who would not have been proud of such a brother? He'd given his admiration as unstintingly as he did his love, and he was shaken now by what he was feeling as they rode back to the Bishop of
Worcester's Palace, for he would not have believed it possible that he could ever be ashamed of Edward.
He was unwilling to speak out in front of their men, but as soon as they dismounted before the Bishop's great hall, he drew Edward s'de. Edward did not object, and followed him into the Bishop's riv-
siae garden. Coming to a halt by a trellised arbor, Edmund said ab-
P%, "Whatever possessed you, Ned? I'd not have believed it had I
seen it with my own eyes!"

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"I do not see why you are so wrought up about this. Does it truly surprise you that I should want to abolish a dangerous custom, to prevent Llewelyn from giving shelter to my enemies?"
"I am not objecting to what you demanded of him, but to the way you did it.
Christ in Heaven, Ned, how could you go to the man on the very day of his wedding?"
"What better time than today? When would he be most likely to yield?" Edward looked challengingly at his brother. "And he did yield, did he not? Do not make too much of this, Edmund. I did what I had to do; so did he. What else matters? Now I would . . . Good God, Edmund, will you look at that? Did you ever see a prettier sight in all your born days?"
Eleanora and Blanche were laughing at Edward's playful chivalry, but Edmund agreed with his brother, for they both did look lovely, each in her own way.
Tall and stately, Eleanora was exceedingly elegant in a deep purple gown that matched Edward's tunic, set off by a surcote of lavender fretted with seed pearls. She had the right to wear her hair loose, a privilege permitted only to queens and virgin brides, but she had chosen to conceal her dark hair under a linen barbette and fashionable fillet, so as not to draw attention away from
Ellen on her wedding day. Quite a few people had noticed how much Eleanora had thawed toward Ellen as the date drew near for her departure into Wales.
Blanche did not have Eleanora's advantage of height, but she was still likely to turn heads, too, for her tastes were less traditional, more flamboyant, than Eleanora's, and she was clad in a daring new Italian style. Her gown was cut conventionally, a royal shade of blue belted at the waist, but her surcote of burnt-orange velvet reached only to her knees, flaunted an exotic, uneven hem.
"If you think we look alluring," she said, "wait till you behold the bride!"
Ellen paused in the doorway of the hall, then stepped out into the bright, blinding light. She wore an emerald-colored surcote over a gown of sunlit silk, a shade sure to startle, for yellow was no longer fashionable in
England, that being the color of the badges worn by the Jews. But Ellen had been stubbornly set upon it, having learned that yellow was greatly favored by the Welsh. And though her choice might be controversial, none could deny that it was extremely becoming. Her most striking adornment, however, was her long, free-flowing hair, a coppery cascade that reached her hips, that stirred
Edward to murmur admi*' ingly, "If a woman hath long hair, it is a glory to her."
"Tell me the truth," Ellen entreated. "How do I look? I decided not to wear a veil, after all; does it matter?" Laughing, then, at herself, &e

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confided/ "I cannot believe I am so nervous! It is just that I want today to be perfect, perfect in every way."
They assured her that she need not fret, that she looked lovely, that the day would be all she hoped and more. Only Edmund said nothing, for as he looked at
Ellen, he was seeing again Llewelyn's white, tense face, his blazing dark eyes, and he knew that Edward had done more than ruin the wedding for
Llewelyn, he had ruined it for Ellen, too.
THE townspeople were eager to catch a glimpse of the wedding party, and
Bishop's Street, south Frerenstrete, and St Mary's Knoll were lined with spectators. While the presence of their King was always exciting, on this sunlit October Thursday, they saved their loudest cheers for the bride. Ellen enjoyed herself immensely, reining in her new white mare before the priory's great gate to accept a bouquet of daisies, to scatter coins to cocky street urchins, and to acknowledge the heady acclaim with smiles and waves. She had argued in vain against this wedding, had not found it easy to be parted from
Llewelyn at Rhuddlan Castle, wanting only to ride pillion behind him into the heartland of his realm, far beyond Edward's reach. But she could not deny that so much attention was flattering, and she was delighted to be reunited with her de Quincy cousins, to see again some of her father's friends. Sometime in the past few days, this wedding had stopped being Edward's, and become hers, and she had begun to feel the way a bride ought, she'd begun to have fun.
Upon their arrival at the cathedral church, they found that Llewelyn was not yet there, and it was decided to await him in the priory Chapter House. As time passed and he still did not come, men began to make the usual trite jokes about reluctant husbands and absconding bridegrooms. Ellen bore it with good grace, and remained serenely selfpossessed even as the delay lengthened, as the Bishop of Worcester and other guests grew increasingly impatient. She deflected the jests with a smile, and laughed outright when someone seriously suggested that Llewelyn truly might not be coming.
"My husband is worth waiting for," she was assuring them when a sudden burst of cheering wafted through the doorway. Lifting her skirts, Ellen hastened out into the cloisters just as Llewelyn came through the south passage, emerged into the sun. Belatedly remembering k'eanora's lectures about maidenly decorum, Ellen did not fling herself mto his arms, instead sank down on the pathway in a deep curtsy. As Llewelyn raised her to her feet, she whispered, "You look so handsome," for she thought his red wool tunic and gold sleeveless surcote