The Reckoning - 3 (82 page)

"His was the most offensive answer of all. He says that if he is ever disposed to go to the Holy Land, he will do so for God, not for the English King. He even dares to say that he was amazed I should sanction an enforced pilgrimage, which could have no merit in God's eyes. And he casts vile aspersions upon my neutrality and good faith, insists that they will win this war, that God would never reward English cruelty and treachery with victory."
Edward began, then, to read the letters, and Edmund shifted position so he could see over his brother's shoulder. The Archbishop was too angry to wait patiently, striding back and forth before the windowseat, his robes flaring out behind him. "I should have expected this, for they know no more of gratitude than they do of honor. Their priests are too often unlettered rustics who are ignorant of Latin and take wives or hearth-mates in defiance of Church law. Their own laws are a scandal throughout Christendom, for they permit divorce and they accord bastards the same rights as heirs born in holy wedlock, and they even claim that Church law should be subordinate to the laws of Hywel Dda. Assuming this law-giver of theirs ever lived, he quite clearly took his instructions from the Devil himself!"
Peckham paused for breath. "The whole of Welsh history is a shameful tale of treachery, massacres, arson, and other unspeakable crimes. 1 ought to have studied it ere I risked so much to save them, for I'd have realized that my efforts were doomed to fail. Why a people so slothful and wanton and faithless should take such pride in their pitiful heritage is truly beyond the comprehension of reasonable men. After reading these letters, my liege, I can say only that an English conquest of Wales would be a blessing for these people, belatedly bringing them the benefits of Christian civilization."
Edward put the letters down, got to his feet. "So be it," he said/ no more than that, but Blanche felt a chill, and she reached hastily f°r her husband's hand. Edmund gave her fingers a reassuring squefi ' but his smile could not banish the vision that Edward's words ha conjured up: Wales in flames, a land stalked by death, and Edmund

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the midst of it all, dying for his brother on a Welsh battlefield, in an ambush on a snow-shrouded hillside of Eryri.
Edmund had risen now, too. "You mean then, to wage the war throughout the winter?" he asked, and Edward nodded.
"As long," he said grimly, "as it takes."
The men did not linger, for Edward's council must be told that the Welsh had chosen the sword over the olive branch. Blanche sat where she was, watching them go. "God keep you safe, Edmund," she whispered, and God help Llewelyn ap
Gruffydd. Mayhap Ned was right, and the Almighty had been merciful in taking
Ellen when He did.
AS he was about to enter the great hall at Aber, Llewelyn came to a sudden halt. "Go on in," he told his companions, Dai and Goronwy and his cousin of
Powys, "and I'll join you soon."
Crossing the bailey then, he stopped before the cradle. Caitlin was bending over the baby, and looked up, startled, as his shadow fell across the blankets. "Uncle Llewelyn! Is it all right to have Gwenllian out here?
Elizabeth probably would not approve, but it's not that cold today, and she's well wrapped up ... see?"
"She looks quite content, lass." Llewelyn had noticed signs of strain between his niece and sister-in-law since his return to Aber, and now he understood why. Elizabeth, a mother of two, would naturally assume she knew best where
Gwenllian was concerned, but her proprietary attitude clearly did not sit well with Caitlin. He was not sure what he could do about it, though, for he'd be gone again by week's end; they'd just have to settle it themselves. Reaching down, he gave Gwenllian his finger to hold, and she blinked up at him curiously, began to make soft, cooing sounds.
"Her eyes are getting cloudier," he said. "Will they be brown, do you think?"
"Elizabeth says so. I hope they will stay this shade, for it is such a pretty color, a pale gold-brown, lighter than your eyes, darker than Aunt Ellen's."
"Yes," he agreed, "it is," and then he smiled, for he'd just noticed we small dog curled up at Caitlin's feet. "How did you ever win Hiraeth
°ver, lass?"
It took time and patience and a prayer or two. But I'd heard that
°gs like Hiraeth, the sort that loved but one master, have been known pine away, and I was not going to let that happen to Aunt Ellen's
6-
l m glad," he said, "that you were so persistent. It could not have ^n easy, though, for she loved Ellen and only Ellen. I'd tried half-

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"He said that your offer was neither safe nor honest, and he could never consent, for it would mean the destruction of his people." The Archbishop thrust the letters at Edward. "See for yourself. He says that even if he'd been willing to agree to his own disinheritance, his council would never permit him to renounce his birthright. . . and he adds that they marveled such a proposal would even be made. The second letter is from his council. They say that these terms are utterly unacceptable, that they will never again do homage to strangers, to those whose tongue, manners, and laws are alien to them."
Edward's eyes glittered. "Will they not, indeed? And Davydd?"
"His was the most offensive answer of all. He says that if he is ever disposed to go to the Holy Land, he will do so for God, not for the English King. He even dares to say that he was amazed I should sanction an enforced pilgrimage, which could have no merit in God's eyes. And he casts vile aspersions upon my neutrality and good faith, insists that they will win this war, that God would never reward English cruelty and treachery with victory."
Edward began, then, to read the letters, and Edmund shifted position so he could see over his brother's shoulder. The Archbishop was too angry to wait patiently, striding back and forth before the windowseat, his robes flaring out behind him. "I should have expected this, for they know no more of gratitude than they do of honor. Their priests are too often unlettered rustics who are ignorant of Latin and take wives or hearth-mates in defiance of Church law. Their own laws are a scandal throughout Christendom, for they permit divorce and they accord bastards the same rights as heirs born in holy wedlock, and they even claim that Church law should be subordinate to the laws of Hywel Dda. Assuming this law-giver of theirs ever lived, he quite clearly took his instructions from the Devil himself!"
Peckham paused for breath. "The whole of Welsh history is a shameful tale of treachery, massacres, arson, and other unspeakable crimes. I ought to have studied it ere I risked so much to save them, for I'd have realized that my efforts were doomed to fail. Why a people so slothful and wanton and faithless should take such pride in their pitiful heritage is truly beyond the comprehension of reasonable men. After reading these letters, my liege, I can say only that an English conquest of Wales would be a blessing for these people, belatedly bringing them the benefits of Christian civilization."
Edward put the letters down, got to his feet. "So be it," he said, no more than that, but Blanche felt a chill, and she reached hastily f°r her husband's hand. Edmund gave her fingers a reassuring squeeze, but his smile could not banish the vision that Edward's words had conjured up: Wales in flames, a land stalked by death, and Edmund in

527
the midst of it all, dying for his brother on a Welsh battlefield, in an ambush on a snow-shrouded hillside of Eryri.
Edmund had risen now, too. "You mean then, to wage the war throughout the winter?" he asked, and Edward nodded.
"As long," he said grimly, "as it takes."
The men did not linger, for Edward's council must be told that the Welsh had chosen the sword over the olive branch. Blanche sat where she was, watching them go. "God keep you safe, Edmund," she whispered, and God help Llewelyn ap
Gruffydd. Mayhap Ned was right, and the Almighty had been merciful in taking
Ellen when He did.
AS he was about to enter the great hall at Aber, Llewelyn came to a sudden halt. "Go on in," he told his companions, Dai and Goronwy and his cousin of
Powys, "and I'll join you soon."
Crossing the bailey then, he stopped before the cradle. Caitlin was bending over the baby, and looked up, startled, as his shadow fell across the blankets. "Uncle Llewelyn! Is it all right to have Gwenllian out here?
Elizabeth probably would not approve, but it's not that cold today, and she's well wrapped up ... see?"
"She looks quite content, lass." Llewelyn had noticed signs of strain between his niece and sister-in-law since his return to Aber, and now he understood why. Elizabeth, a mother of two, would naturally assume she knew best where
Gwenllian was concerned, but her proprietary attitude clearly did not sit well with Caitlin. He was not sure what he could do about it, though, for he'd be gone again by week's end; they'd just have to settle it themselves. Reaching down, he gave Gwenllian his finger to hold, and she blinked up at him curiously, began to make soft, cooing sounds.
"Her eyes are getting cloudier," he said. "Will they be brown, do you think?"
"Elizabeth says so. I hope they will stay this shade, for it is such a pretty color, a pale gold-brown, lighter than your eyes, darker than Aunt Ellen's."
"Yes," he agreed, "it is," and then he smiled, for he'd just noticed the small dog curled up at Caitlin's feet. "How did you ever win Hiraeth over, lass?"
"It took time and patience and a prayer or two. But I'd heard that dogs like
Hiraeth, the sort that loved but one master, have been known to pine away, and
I was not going to let that happen to Aunt Ellen's dog."
"I'm glad," he said, "that you were so persistent. It could not have °een easy, though, for she loved Ellen and only Ellen. I'd tried half-

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heartedly to befriend her at first, for I am fond of dogs, even one that looks like a barking ball of yarn. But she never accepted me except on sufferance .
. . although she did seem more tolerant of Hugh; at least she never bit him!"
He saw his niece's lashes flicker, saw her react to Hugh's name, and he said quietly, "You miss him, I think . . . very much."
Caitlin's eyes flew to his face, but she did not find what she'd feared. He did not know! She spared a moment for a swift, silent prayer of thankfulness, for he already had trouble and griefs enough to last a lifetime and more.
"Yes," she said, "I do miss Hugh, for he was a good friend. Uncle Llewelyn ...
is it true that you are again going south?"
"Yes," he said. "The Welsh down in Ceredigion and Ystrad Tywi are in danger of losing heart, for their resistance seems to have waned once I returned to
Gwynedd. Moreover, since Edward means to continue his campaign during the winter months, we'll need to take some of the pressure off Gwynedd, and what better way to do it than to give Edward trouble elsewhere? Lastly, Roger de
Mortimer's death has shaken Maelienydd to its very core, and if we are to take advantage of that unrest, I need to be there."
"I suppose," she said grudgingly, but she could not keep from adding, "I still wish you'd send Davydd instead, whilst you stayed in Gwynedd."
"I've done more fighting down in those cantrefs than Davydd has, know the lay of the land better than he does." Leaving unsaid what she knew to be an equally important consideration, that he could encourage the faithful, embolden the wavering, as Davydd could not.
She looked so somber, so forlorn that Llewelyn found himself fumbling for comfort. "Ere I depart, we shall have a great feast at Aber, to rejoice in the favor the Almighty has shown us and to celebrate last week's triumph over the
English invaders. I would be beholden to you, Caitlin, if you would plan the meal, consult with my bard, undertake all that must be done, and act as my hostess at the high table ... as Ellen did whenever we had guests."
Her eyes widened. "Truly, Uncle? You are sure you want me to do that? Not
Elizabeth?"
"Quite sure," he said, and was rewarded with a smile bright enough to blind.
It had been a long time, he thought, since he'd seen her smile like that, since he'd seen her smile at all.
THE feasting at Aber had gone on for hours. The Welsh drank to the" victory upon the shores of the Menai Straits. They listened raptly a Llewelyn's court bard sang of past glories. They dined upon roast veniso /

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sturgeon pie, egg custard, stewed capon, hot sugared wafers filled with fruit, and wine and mead in spiced abundance. Llewelyn withdrew when the dancing began, for he rode south at first light, and the sound of the music followed him back to his own chamber, floating for miles upon the quiet night air.
Llewelyn was not tired, though, knew it would be hours before he could sleep.
He roamed the chamber restlessly, then abruptly insisted that Trevor return to the festivities, and as soon as the boy had gone, he, too, left the chamber.
It was cold, but the wind was still, and the sky spilling over with stars. The gatehouse guards looked startled, but something in Llewelyn's face kept them quiet, and they watched in puzzlement as he passed through. He told himself a walk would help him sleep, clear his head of mead, and he would have insisted that he was merely wandering at random, with no set destination in mind. But his steps took him unerringly into the darkness, until his boots were scuffed with sand and he no longer heard the harp music from the hall, heard only the sounds of waves breaking upon the beach.
He stopped at the water's edge and glanced over his shoulder half expecting to see a sleek shadow racing toward him across the sand; Nia had loved the shore more than any dog he'd ever had. But Nia, two months dead, ran now only in memory.
He was gazing across the strait when he heard a sudden crunch the sound a boot might make stepping upon a shell. He swung around and saw that his instincts had served him well, for he was no longer alone. A figure was emerging from the darkness, not yet close enough to recognize. But he had no need of moonlight or lanterns, somehow knewhow he was not even sure himselfwho it had to be. He Waited and a few moments later Davydd sauntered out of the shadows, whistling softly, as if he took a midnight stroll along Aber's beach every eve of his life.
"I never knew you numbered night tracking amongst your talents, Davydd."
"Actually, I do not." Davydd picked up a shell, examined it in Painstaking detail, then pitched it into an incoming wave. "I stopped °y your chamber to chat, what with you leaving in the morn, and found you gone. So ... I came looking for you."
"How," Llewelyn asked, genuinely surprised, "did you guess that I'd be here?"
"Where else would you be on a night when you could not sleep?" avydd said, and they both turned at that, looked across the water toward Llanfaes.
A wave splashed upon the beach, almost at their feet. Davydd

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