The Reckoning - 3 (66 page)

he claimed. And Davydd's stiff, prideful tone did not completely camouflage what he'd never admit, that Llewelyn's angry rebuff had stung.
"It is my memory that is at fault," Llewelyn said reluctantly, "not you. I've much on my mind, and I forgot about your letter."
Had it been anyone but Davydd, Llewelyn would have gone further, offered a genuine apology rather than a hinted one. With Davydd, though, this was the best he could do. It was still more than Davydd had expected, and he nudged his mount closer, his eyes searching Llewelyn's face.
"What are you really doing out in the middle of nowhere by yourself, Llewelyn?"
"I'm sorry to disappoint you, but the explanation is not a sinister one. I was out riding, went farther than I'd meant to, and rather than "ding all the way back to Cricieth, I decided to beg a meal and a bed from Einion."
Davydd was not buying that, but he let it drop, for the moment.
Is that why you look so careworn . . . hunger pangs? Lucky for you
'hat I happened along when I did." Glancing back toward his waiting men, he waved them forward. "We'll stop here for a while, rest the horses, and eat."
Llewelyn started to protest, then stopped. Why not? In truth, he
^as ravenous, for he'd not had a morsel since yesterday. Davydd's men
Were already dismounting, unpacking the food, throwing flasks and sults about with equal abandon. Davydd gave his retainers a lot of

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leeway, but the only ones who lasted long in his service were those \vho learned early on that Davydd would overlook a great dealprovided that they were competent and discreet. Now, despite the rowdiness and tomfoolery, they soon found an alder tree, which could usually be relied upon to take root near water. This one was no exception, and, having tethered the horses by the brook, they then withdrew to eat just out of earshot of their lord and his brother.
Davydd picked up a basket, walked over into the shade cast by the alder. "Will this do?' he asked innocently, as if unaware of the widespread belief that evil spirits lurked in the shadow of alder trees. Llewelyn knew just how suspect was Davydd's innocence if any man did, but he accepted the challenge, and joined his brother under the alder. Davydd tossed him a wineskin, tore a loaf of bread in half, and threw that his way, too. Llewelyn was not surprised to find that Davydd had included a vial of salt, even napkins, for Davydd had always liked his comforts, unable to see any virtues in abstinence. "Here,"
Davydd said, "catch," and a leg of roast capon came sailing through the air.
Llewelyn caught it just before it splashed into the stream, and then gave
Davydd an accusing look.
"This is chicken," he said.
"Yes . . . so? I'm sure your lordship would rather have venison, but"
"It is Wednesday, Davydd," Llewelyn said impatiently. "You know full well that the Church forbids the eating of meat on Wednesdays."
"Wednesdayare you sure?" Davydd's bluff faltered under Llewelyn's skeptical gaze, and he said grudgingly, "Aye, I know. But it was a choice between sinning and eating salted herring, and I chose the lesser evil. I do hope you're not going to lecture me now about my impious eating habits?"
Llewelyn shook his head. "No ... I daresay you'll have such spectacular sins to answer for on Judgment Day that the question of salted herring will never even come up."
Davydd could not help grinning. "Jesu, but I walked right into that thrust, with shield down and sword sheathed!" Lounging back on the grass, he raised his own half-eaten chicken leg, gesturing toward the one Llewelyn held. "Life is full of hard choices, Brother. You can be sated and sinful, or righteous and hungry. Do not keep me in suspense; which will it be?"
He was being melodramatic, for Llewelyn's confessor would cheerfully absolve so small a sin with an easy penance. But he'd just given Llewelyn his first real smile of the day. Glancing thoughtfully at the chicken, Llewelyn said, "I
could be wrong. It does look like capon. BU I suppose it might be barnacle goose."
Davydd's eyes widened. Few myths were as popular as that of the barnacle goose, a wondrously strange beast said to hatch in the sea, for this belief allowed people to eat it in good conscience on fast days. But ngwelyn was the last man Davydd would have expected to put credence jn so fishy a fable, and he eyed his brother now in some surprise. "Do you really believe that the barnacle goose is a sort of fish?" he asked, and Llewelyn shrugged.
"I will if you will," he said, and Davydd burst out laughing.
"I took that bait quick enough, never even felt the hook." Passing Llewelyn the salt, he said, "Well . . . what shall we talk about? We can always swap family gossip. I'll tell you what I heard about Rhodri's English bride if you"
"Rhodri got married?"
"I take it you were not invited to the wedding either. Yes, our little brother snared himself an English heiress, crumbs from Edward's table. More than crumbs, actually, for Beatrice de Malpas brought Rhodri a manor in Surrey and lands in Cheshire . . . not to mention the Godgiven opportunity to live amidst
English gentry. I'd wager that in no time at all he'll be quaffing ale and dining before noon and calling himself Sir Roderick."
Llewelyn gave Davydd a curious look. "Do you not think you're being rather

hard on him? The both of us have English wives, too."
"Yes . . . but it is different with Rhodri. He's the worst sort of fool, Llewelyn, for he lacks the sense to value the only thing he truly has to be proud ofhis Welsh blood."
Llewelyn had to defer to Davydd on that, for he simply did not know Rhodri well enough to say if Davydd's scathing assessment was correct or not. "At least that is one charge that can never be lain at your door. Whatever else men might say to you, no one could ever accuse you of not being utterly
Welsh!"
That earned him an amused, faintly sardonic smile. "I assume you mean that I'm fully as contrary and fickle as the English expect us to be. But you ought to have a care, for that almost sounded approving. Uewelyn ... I heard about
Edward's latest sleight of hand. There is not a jongleur alive who'd not barter his soul for Edward's bag of tricks. The best of them can only hope to make a dove disappear, whilst Edward Plucks an entire cantref right out of
Wales, waves his sceptre, and lo, Arwystli is of a sudden located in England.
Why did he not spare Christendom all those lives lost striving to free
Jerusalem from the in"dels? Would it not have been easier had he just declared it to be English, to°< like Arwystli?"
Llewelyn would have sworn that he'd never be able to find any urnor in
Edward's Arwystli double-dealing, but as usual, he'd reckoned

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sentence. It seemed to hang in the air between them, fraught with that had been left unsaid. Their eyes caught, held. And then, by comm consent, they let the moment go, too wary to venture further. Davydd was the first to look away.
He passed out the last of the chicken, rnakin another jest about barnacle geese, and they moved on to safer ground back to the familiar banter and verbal sparring, but not quite as barbed as before, not quite as guarded. Some yards away, Davydd's escort sprawled comfortably in the sun, joking amongst themselves, looking over occasionally toward the alder tree, hearing laughter and marveling that these two men could sound so relaxed with each other, so oddly at ease.
EINION had been delighted by the unexpected arrival of his nephews. He'd welcomed them joyfully, tactfully concealing his surprise that Llewelyn should turn up without his bodyguards and in Davydd's cornpany, and they had passed an amicable evening together. Llewelyn was shocked, though, to see how rapidly
Einion's strength was waning. Suffering from "heart-pain" and shortness of breath, he seemed to have aged years in a matter of months. Davydd had confided that Owain, too, was ailing again, stricken by the crippling
"joint-evil" that brought such misery to so many. Watching as Einion made a gallant attempt to mask his discomfort, thinking of Owain, Llewelyn and Davydd exchanged glances, sharing the same thought, that death was not to be feared as much as those maladies that left a man alive but enfeebled, a still strong will entrapped within an infirm body.
Davydd departed early the next morning for Owain's lands to the south, but
Llewelyn lingered, enjoying Einion's company, not yet ready to face his wife.
A night's sleep had changed nothing, provided no new insights into his dilemma. He'd long known that Ellen had an idealized, visionary view of her father. Hers was the uncritical, adoring devotion of an innocent, for time had frozen for her as well as for Simon on that August day at Evesham. It was easy for Llewelyn to understand, and equally easy to acceptuntil now, until Roger de Mortimer robbed him of the woman that young girl had become, and he found himself unable to get past the daughter, to reach his wife.
It was late afternoon when he bade Einion farewell, and with an escort provided by his uncle, began his reluctant journey back to Cricieth. They set an unhurried pace, and were traveling with lit lanterns by the time the castle loomed up against the darkening sky, high above the sea, its towering battlements crowned in mist.
Trevor darted forward as Llewelyn dismounted, materializing & swiftly that
Llewelyn knew he must have been keeping vigil. Llewety"

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oared some moments for the boy, for he was well aware that Trevor v/as convinced he could walk on water if he had a mind to, but all the vhile his eyes kept straying across the bailey, toward the lights flooding the upper windows of the southwest tower, where Ellen awaited him.
She was standing by a window as he entered, clad in one of her favorite gowns, a flattering shade of sapphire. But tonight the vivid color only served to accentuate her pallor, to call attention to the shadows smudged under her eyes.
"I did not know when to expect you," she said, "for Einion's messenger said you might not be returning till the morrow. Are you hungry? I can rouse the cooks . . ."
"Thank you, but that will not be necessary. We stopped and ate by the roadside."
She nodded. "Well, then . . . are you thirsty? What would you like. . .?"
"Mayhap some wine."
"Red? White?"
"Either one will do. Thank you." He watched as she moved to the door to summon a servant. This was intolerable. Not even beggars seeking alms were as polite as this. But what she wanted to hear, he could not say.
Ellen returned to the chamber more quickly than he expected, or desired. She hovered nearby while he unbuckled his scabbard, hung it on a chair. As he pulled his dusty, travel-stained tunic over his head, she took it from him, carried it across the chamber, and stuffed it into a sack for their laundress.
"You've torn the sleeve of your shirt," she said. "I'll see that it is mended." And then, "Llewelyn ... I hate this. I can hardly breathe, feel as if a weight were pressing against my chest. How did things go so wrong between us, and . . . and what if we cannot get them right again?"
"I hate it, too, Ellen," he admitted. "But I am not sure that now is the time to try to sort it all out. I've been in the saddle for hours, am bone-weary
..."
"I am, too," she said. "I lay awake till dawn, thinking. In truth, that is all
I've done for these past two days. I thought about us, about my father, about
Roger de Mortimer, about what you said to me yesterday morn, and the way you looked at me then, as if you did not like me very much at that moment."
He seemed about to speak, and she shook her head. "Please . . . near me out. I
did not mean that as a reproach." She found for him a Very wan smile. "You see, I did not like you very much at that moment, either. And it scared me, that I did not."

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too
"I know," he said quietly, for he did.
"I was so wroth with you, Llewelyn. But I was wretchedly unhappy i, so unhappy
I feared I'd sicken on it. I knew you thought I Wa'
was being unreasonable, and so I forced myself to go over it in my mind to remember all I've ever been told about Evesham."
She drew a deep, hurtful breath, then gestured toward her swollen bloodshot eyes. "I know you can tell I've been weeping. But my tears were not all for you. I wept, too, for my father and for the brutal way he died. I made myself think about how it must have been for him, and about what they did to him, all the shameful, loathsome cruelties . Roger de Mortimer's cruelties. And when I
was done, I knew that I could never forgive de Mortimer, never. And I knew, too, that I had the right to hate him. As Simon de Montfort's daughter, I need make no apologies for that, nor will I."
She saw him stiffen, and said quickly, "I am not done yet. There is more. I
realized that you, too, had right on your side, for what you said was true. I
had indeed forgotten what I owed to you, and for that, I do seek your pardon.
Nothing in my life has given me greater joy than being your wife. In this past week, I let myself forget that, forget that my loyalties are pledged to you, just as my heart is. But I promise you that it will not happen again."
Llewelyn crossed the space between them. "And you'll be able to accept my alliance with Roger de Mortimer?"
She nodded somberly. "I shall have to, shan't I?"
He felt no triumph; there was too much pain in her eyes for that. But he did feel an intense relief, overwhelming enough to render him speechless. Taking her in his arms, he held her close, for he now knew they both knewthat marital vows might bind them unto death, but love was far more fragile, love could be lost.
ON the 9th of October in God's Year, 1281, a "treaty of peace and indissoluble concord" was entered into by Llewelyn ap Gruffydd, Prince of Wales, and Roger de Mortimer, Lord of Wigmore, in which they pledged to support each other, both in time of war and peace, against all men, save only the King of England, his brother, and heirs.
IN early December, Llewelyn had a clandestine meeting with the man who was
Seneschal to Gruffydd ap Gwenwynwyn, but privately pledge*1 to Llewelyn. Their secret colloquy was cut short, however, by the w clement winter weather. It had been, all would agree, an od
<

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unpredictable year, heavy spring and summer rains yielding to a brief, ugautiful autumn, and now ending in an unseasonably early cold spell. There had been one major snowstorm already, even before November ^as done. The roads were mired in frigid mud, sleet pelted the last leaves from the trees, and the wretched people huddling before their hearths knew that the worst still lay ahead. As the second week of Advent began, the sky was flying such storm warnings that Llewelyn and his covert ally agreed they'd best hasten their departure; it would, they joked grimly, ill serve their conspiracy to be snowbound together.
Llewelyn left Beddgelert Priory at dawn, raced the snowclouds north. He won, by the narrowest of margins. Snow had begun to fall by the time he reached the
Lledr Valley, but Dolwyddelan was soon in sight, a torch-lit beacon beckoning from the crest of its high, rocky hill.
Trevor bolted from the great hall as they rode into the bailey. He'd not even paused to collect his mantle, so thankful was he that his lord had come safely back from his mysterious mission. He stood shivering in the snow as Llewelyn sent his men into the hall to thaw out, and squirmed in pleased embarrassment when Llewelyn chided him for courting frostbite. But when Llewelyn started for the keep, beckoning him to follow, he backed away in confusion.
"My lord, I ... I cannot go up to your chamber. Your lady wife . . . she is taking a bath!"
Llewelyn arched a brow. "And just how do you know that?"
Trevor flushed bright red, began to stammer that he'd seen the servants lugging buckets of water up the stairs. But then he looked more closely into his lord's face, gave an abashed smile. "Oh! You were jesting!"
"Yes, lad," Llewelyn said patiently, "I was jesting." Llewelyn had grown fond of Trevor, whose devotion to duty even Hugh might envy. But the boy insisted upon taking Llewelyn's lightest utterances as Holy Writ, and Llewelyn sometimes suspected that Trevor had been cheated °f one of life's strongest shields, a sense of humor. He smiled now at Ws squireyoung, eager, turning blue with coldand ordered him back into the hall before he froze those body parts he would least like to lose. Trevor grinned shyly, trotted off through the snow. It was falling raster now; Llewelyn quickened his step, grateful that he would not be °ut on the roads this night, but snug before his own hearth.
He encountered a servant on the stairs, laden with a flagon and j^ger-filled wafers. Taking the tray himself, Llewelyn crossed the fore-
uilding drawbridge, knocked briskly on his bedchamber door. Fortu-