26 tears had filled her eyes. But when she wanted to know how he saw himself, Llewelyn grew reticent, evasive. From the day she'd taken him to the Tower of London to see the caged cats, he'd known what animal he wanted to claim as his own, the tawny-maned lion, but that was a vanity he was not willing to confess, even to his mother. He had never tried to characterize Rhys or Ednyved, but it came to him now without need for reflection, for Rhys had the unpredictable edginess of a high-strung stallion and Ednyved all the latent power, the massive strength and lazy good humor of the tame bear he'd seen at London's Smithfield Fair. Ednyved yawned and stretched, reaching for the woven sack that lay beside their bait pail. He shook several apples out onto the grass, tossed one to Rhys. "I daresay you want one, too, Llewelyn?" he asked nonchalantly and, without looking up, sent an apple sailing through the air. It was remarkably accurate for a blind pitch, landing just where Llewelyn had been standing seconds before. He was no longer there, however, having recoiled with such vehemence that he bumped bruisingly into the nearest tree. Rhys, no less startled, spun around so precipitantly that he overturned the bait pail, and, as he cursed and Llewelyn took several deep breaths, trying to get his pulse rate back to normal, Ednyved rolled over in the grass and laughed and laughed. "How in hellfire did you know I was there?" Llewelyn demanded, and Ednyved feigned surprise. "How could I not, with you making enough noise to bestir the dead? Is that the English style of woodland warfare?" He'd always been a lethal tease, and Llewelyn was not normally thin-skinned. But they'd not yet established the boundaries of their new relationship. Llewelyn opened his mouth to make a sharp retort, but Rhys was quicker. Rhys's pride was prickly and unpredictable, easily affronted, and he'd been embarrassed by his failure to take notice of Llewelyn. Glaring at his cousin, he snapped, "And Llewelyn might well ask if this is the Welsh way of welcome!" Turning back to Llewelyn, he smiled, said, "We thought you'd be home for your uncle's funeral, were watching for you." Llewelyn smiled back, and coming forward, he settled himself beside them on the grass. A silence fell between them, one that seemed likely to swallow up any words they could throw into the void. It was broken at last by Llewelyn; he heard himself making courteous queries about the health and well-being of their families, falling back upon all the obligatory conversational gambits to be shared between strangers. Nor did Rhys ease the awkwardness any by offering Llewelyn formal condolences for the death of his uncle.
27 I lewelyn would have liked to speak freely, to explain that he'd not his Uncle Owa.in all that well. But he felt constrained to respond ha conventional politeness, and thus found himself flying false colWl coming before them in the guise of a grief that was not his. ° ' Rhys offered him an apple. "Did your stepfather come with you?" asked, as if he could possibly have had any interest in Hugh's whereabouts. Llewelyn nodded - "Hugh came on behalf of the Corbet family, as a sture of respect to my mother's kin ..." He stopped, for Ednyved had teaned forward, was regarding him with exaggerated attention. "Why do you look at me like that? Has my face of a sudden turned green?" "I was trying to decide," Ednyved drawled, "whether or not you'd picked up a French accent." Llewelyn tensed, ~but then he looked more closely at the other boy, saw that Ednyved's eyes were bright with friendly laughter. "No French accent," he said, and grinned, "but I did spend some right uncomfortable days this spring, worrying that I'd picked up the French pox!" Ednyved's mouth twitched. "Llewelyn!" With a frown toward his cousin. "If you please, no bawdy talknot before the lad here!" Ducking just in time as an apple whizzed past his head. Seconds later, Rhys followed up his aerial assault with a direct frontal attack, and Ednyved, caught off balance, was knocked flat. Rhys's anger was more assumed than not, and their scuffling soon took on an almost ritualistic quality, for this was an old game, rarely played out in earnest, and likely to continue until one or the other of the combatants lost interest. In this case the mock battle lasted until they noticed that Llewelyn had appropriated the rest of the apples and stretched himself out comfortably on the turf to watch, for all the world like a front-row spectator at a bearbaiting. "Go to it, lads," he said airily, and by common consent, they both pounced on him at once. For a few hectic moments all three boys were tumbling about on the riverbank, until at last they lay panting in a tangled heap, lacking breath for anything but laughter. After that, there seemed to be too much to say and not enough time m which to say it, and they plunged into the past as if fearing it might somehow be forgotten if it was not shared immediately, interrupting each other freely, trading insults and memories, laughing for laughter's sake alone. Rhys had gone to the river to drink. Returning, he threw himself "wl" 'n ^e 8rass/ anc* broke into Ednyved's monologue to demand, When must you go back to England, Llewelyn?"
28 "I'm not going back," Llewelyn said, at once capturing their undivided attention. "You both know the history of my House, know how my uncles Davydd and Rhodri cheated my father and my other uncles of their rightful share of my grandfather's inheritance. They carved Gwynedd up between them as if it were a meat pie, forced my father, Owain Fawr's firstborn, into exile, brought about his death whilst I was shll in my cradle. His blood is on their hands and they've yet to answer for it I think it time they did." "You mean to avenge your father's death?" Rhys's green eyes were luminous, aglitter with sudden excitement, but Ednyved seemed far more dubious. "All know the English are born half mad," he said slowly, "but I wonder if the madness might not be in the water they drink or the air they breathe. How else explain that four short years amongst them could have so scattered your wits?" Llewelyn was amused. "Your faith in me is truly wondrous to behold, Ednyved. Think you that I'm such a fool as to challenge my uncles on my own, with only God on my side? I had a long talk this morn with my Uncle Gruffydd, and he has sworn to give me his full backing, men who know war well and the money to pay them; he even offered the services of no less a soldier than Gwyn ab Ednywain. It is my intent, too, to join forces with my Uncle Cynan's two grown sons. They were denied their inheritance just as I was, giving us common cause against Davydd and Rhodri." "When you do put it that way, it does not sound quite so crackbrained," Ednyved conceded. "But how in the name of the Lord Jesus did you ever get your lady mother and stepfather to give their consent?" Llewelyn hesitated. "Well, to be honest, I have not told them yet," he admitted, and flushed when they both laughed. "Can you truly blame me?" he protested. "We'll be bound to have a godawful row. I know not with whom my mother'll be more wroth, me or my Uncle Gruffydd, for aiding and abetting me in this. As for Hugh, he's like to have an apoplectic fit. You see, he'd arranged for me to enter the household of a Norman Earl." Llewelyn shook his head in mock regret. "Poor Hugh, how he has struggled to make of me a proper Norman. I once overheard his brother grumbling about turning a sow's ear into a silk purse, and I daresay Hugh has had moments when he's in heartfelt agreement!" This last was said without rancor. Llewelyn never doubted tha Hugh's fondness for him was genuine, but he'd come to understand that affection and bias could take root in the same soil. In this he had tn
29 fa ere of Rhys and Ednyved, and they looked so offended that he advanwg<- -j .11 i i j F felt compelled to come to Hugh s defense. "Yet he is a good man for all that. My mother has been quite content th him, and I"he grinned suddenly"I even did come to forgive vTm for his greatest sin, that of not being born Welsh!" But here they had no common meeting ground; neither Rhys nor Fdnvved had English friends, English kin. Both looked blank, and then Rhys dismissed what he did not understand, saying, "You'll not let them talk you out of it?" "No." Llewelyn sat up, his eyes searching their faces with sudden ober intent. "I shall have men to counsel me, men well lessoned in the ways of war. But no matter how much help I get from my Uncle Gruffydd or my cousins, I shall have to stand or fall on my own efforts. If I cannot convince people that my claim be just, if I cannot win their allegiance . . . nor can I expect my blood to count for aught should I fall into Davydd's hands. And the risks will be no less for those who follow me." He paused. "My Uncle Gruffydd has agreed to speak with your fa
thers, should you" "You want us to help you overthrow Davydd and Rhodri, to fight with you?" Rhys could wait no longer, and burst out eagerly, "Jesu, Llewelyn, need you even ask?" Llewelyn smiled. "What of you, Ednyved? Does Rhys speak for you, too?" "I'd as soon speak for myself," Ednyved said, sounding quite serious for once. "I want to be sure I fully understand. We'd be camping out in the mountains of Gwynedd, harassing your uncles howsoever we could, living like outlaws, sleeping in the open, eating on the run, rebels with prices on our heads. Is that a fair summing up of what we could expect?" "Very fair," Llewelyn agreed, and a slow grin began to spread over Ednyved's face. "Who could possibly turn down an offer like that?" "It is settled, then," Rhys said briskly, never having doubted what his cousin's answer would be. As he spoke, he was rolling up the sleeve of his tunic. Before Llewelyn and Ednyved realized what he meant to o, he unsheathed his dagger and, without the slightest hesitation, drew it swiftly across the bared skin of his forearm. 1 his is too important for mere words," he explained composedly, watching the flow of his own blood with indifferent eyes. "For this, we must swear in blood." was a gesture as irresistible as it was melodramatic, at least to ew yn. Ednyved looked rather less enthusiastic, and when Rhys
30 passed him the bloodied dagger, he took it with such reluctance that Llewelyn burst out laughing. "Since you share the same blood as Rhys, mayhap you could swear, too, in his," he gibed, and Ednyved grimaced, drew a few drops of blood. "Here, my lord princeling," he grunted. "Your turn." Llewelyn made a far more modest cut than Rhys had, saying, "If I'm to spill my blood, I'd as soon spill it in Gwynedd." Rising, he searched the clearing until he'd gathered a handful of rock moss. This he brought back to Rhys, and leaning over, he applied it to the other boy's arm. "Hold this upon the cut till the bleeding ceases, or you might well end up as the first casualty of my war," he said, and laughed again, realizing that he was as happy at this moment as he'd ever been in his life. HUGH Corbet was surprised to find the great hall all but deserted; as in England, the hall was the heart of Welsh home life. But then he heard the voices, angry, accusing, and he understood. At the far end of the hall his wife and her elder brother Gruffydd were standing, and even Hugh, who knew no Welsh other than a few endearments Marared had taught him in bed, could tell at once that they were quarreling, quarreling bitterly. Gruffydd's retainers and servants had wisely fled the battlefield; only Llewelyn, Adda, and Morgan ap Bleddyn, his wife's chaplain, were still in the hall. As Hugh moved up the center aisle, Gruffydd turned on his heel and stalked out the door behind the dais, slamming it resoundingly behind him. Hugh was secretly amused that his wife should be giving her brother such grief. He had discovered early in his marriage that Welshwomen were more outspoken and less submissive than their Norman sisters, and while he'd learned to accept Marared on her own terms, it pleased him to see Gruffydd reaping what he had sown. For certes, a society in which women were not taught their proper place was bound to lack harmony, a natural sense of order. But he was taken aback by what happened next. Marared swung around on her eldest son, put a question to him, and when he shook his head, she slapped him across the face. Hugh was astonished, for he'd never seen her raise her hand to Llewelyn before, not even on occasions when the boy richly deserved it. He hastened toward them, wondering what sins would loom so large in her eyes. Could Llewelyn have set his heart upon trading his gelding for an untamed stallion? No, Margaret was a doting mother, not a foolish one;
31 she'd never sought to wrap the boy in soft wool. What, then? Had he gotten some village lass with child? That was likely enough. He was an attractive lad, and having discovered where his sword was meant to be sheathed, he seemed set upon getting as much practice as possible. But no, why should Margaret fret over a peasant wench ploughed and cropt? She was too sensible for that, would not blame Llewelyn for so small a sin. Marared had turned away abruptly, sitting down suddenly on the steps of the dais. Llewelyn followed at once, hovering uncertainly at her side, his face troubled. But when he patted her shoulder awkwardly, she pushed his hand away. Hugh quickened his step, no longer amused. "Margaret? What is wrong?" "Ask Llewelyn," she said tautly, and then, "He says he's not going back to England with us. He wants to stay in Wales, to try to overthrow his uncles in Gwynedd." Her answer was so anticlimactic that Hugh felt laughter well up within him, dangerously close to the surface. He gave an abrupt, unconvincing cough, knowing she'd never forgive him if he laughed. But how like a woman, to let herself get so distraught over a boy's caprice, a whim of the moment that bore little relationship to reality. Doubtless, too, she'd been seeking to scare Llewelyn with horror stories of the hardships he'd be facing, the dangers and deprivations, the hand-tomouth existence of a rebel on the run. And what could be better calculated to appeal to a foolhardy fourteen-year-old? "Is this true, Llewelyn?" Llewelyn nodded, but his eyes were wary and Hugh hesitated, recognizing the need to tread lightly, not wanting to trample the boy's pride into the dust. "That is a rather ambitious undertaking, lad, too much so. In saying that, I do not mean to belittle your courage in any way. But courage alone is not enough, not when we are talking of rebellion." "I know." Llewelyn slanted a sudden glance toward Morgan. "Courage without common sense is the least of God's gifts." "It's glad I am to hear you say that, Llewelyn. For should you go up against your uncles nowon your ownI fear the only ground in Gwynedd you'd claim would be enough to fill a grave." "I know," Llewelyn said again, and when Hugh smiled, so did he. Before adding, "That is why I did appeal to my Uncle Gruffydd for advice and assistance. He thinks I'm of an age to lay claim to what is mine, has promised to help me do just that." Hugh's jaw dropped. "He what?" Jerking around to stare at his
32 wife. "Your brother has agreed to this, to aid him in this madness?" he demanded, incredulous, and she nodded grimly. Christ, no wonder Margaret was so wroth! "Of all the damned fool. . . ! I am sorry, Llewelyn," he said curtly, "but you must put this scheme from your mind. There is no way on God's earth that I'd ever give my consent." "I'm sorry, too," Llewelyn said softly. "I should've liked to have your approval." He'd spoken so politely that it was a moment or so before Hugh realized he'd just been defied. "You're not being offered a choice, Llewelyn! I'm telling you that you're to forget this lunacy, you're to return to Shropshire with your mother and me, and that will be the end of it. As for your uncle, I'd not speak ill of a man in his own house, but he had no right to encourage you in this, to go against our wishes. You are not his son, after all." "I am not your son, either." Hugh stiffened. The boy's matter-of-fact reminder hurt more than he'd have expected or Llewelyn had intended. It was a hurt that camouflaged itself in rage, and he clenched his fist, his face darkening with a sudden surge of blood. But while Llewelyn felt that his mother had a perfect right to hit him if she chose, he did not accord Hugh the same privilege, and he'd prudently put distance between them. "No, you are not my flesh and blood. But when I wed your mother, your wardship passed into my hands. That means, Llewelyn, that you are answerable to me, and will be until you do come of legal age. Once you reach your majority, you may do what you damned well please, may sell your life as cheaply as you like. But for the next seven years you'll do what I say. Is that clear?" "Very." It was Llewelyn's composure that struck the first false note. The boy was too calm, was arguing more like an adult than a youngster with a head full of fanciful dreams, and Hugh said warningly, "If you think to run away once we're back in Shropshire, Llewelyn ..." Llewelyn was shaking his head. "I've heard you out, Hugh. Now I'd have you do as much for me. I'd not have you think me ungrateful . . . and I do not deny your right of wardship over me until I come of legal age. As we both know, in England that is twenty-one. But what you plainly do not know is that in Wales it is fourteen . . . and I did turn fourteen in February." Hugh stared at his stepson. Llewelyn's dark eyes were shining with triumph; a smile he could not quite repress quirked one corner of his mouth. Hugh caught his breath, swore softly. Little wonder the lad had
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