Here Be Dragons - 1

by Sharon Kay Penman

  324 aged to get the bliaut over her head, flung it to the floor. She started to remove the gown, but then she paused, glared at him, and retreated around the curtained bed to strip off the dress. "Joanna, just what secrets do you think you could have from me after nigh on four years of sharing my bed?" Llewelyn sounded both amused and exasperated. But when she reemerged, he said, quite seriously, "I am bone-weary of these constant quarrels, bone-weary of having to defend to you every decision I make. You are my wife as well as John's daughter, but there are times when you seem to forget that." "That is so unjust, Llewelyn! You know I do love you. But 1 love my father, too. What would you have me do, choose between you?" He did not give her the reassurance she expected. "I would hope it will never come to that, Joanna," he said quietly, and she stared at him in dismay, at a loss for words. There was a sharp rapping on the door and Ednyved entered. "Llewelyn, a messenger has just ridden in from the south. John landed at Fishguard, in South Wales, three days ago. And he brought with him Maude de Braose." WILL swallowed. "My parents?" he said. "My little sister? Were they taken, too?" William de Braose seemed not to hear. It was Llewelyn who reassured the boy, said, "No, lad, they were not." "How . . . how was my grandmother taken? I thought they'd gotten safely into Scotland." "They did, but at Galloway a Scots lord took them prisoner, held them for John. Your parents escaped; so did your Aunt Margaret and her husband, de Lacy. But Maude was taken, and so was her daughter Annora, her son Will, and his four young sons. They were sent under guard back to Ireland, to John at Carreckfergus." Llewelyn looked from the boy to the still silent de Braose. "What will you do?" he asked, and de Braose bestirred himself with an obvious effort, shrugged. "What can I do? You said John is heading for Bristol. I shall have to go to Bristol, too, try to come to terms with him." The Welsh murmured among themselves at that, looked at the Norman lord with the first glimmerings of respect. Even Llewelyn was somewhat impressed. "I wish you well," he said, and meant it, thanwu that he would never be facing de Braose's dilemma, that his own wi'e had nothing whatsoever to fear from John. De Braose seemed to have aged years in a matter of hours. He ran hand roughly through greying blond hair, said heavily, "My lord Llew lyn, I do have a favor to ask of you. I know we are not far from the p°

  325 , p^rjjheli Can you provide a guide for my grandson, get the lad safely ugre7" And when Llewelyn nodded, he turned to Will, said, "At Pwll- heh y°u can ta^e S'11P ^or one °^ *^e sout^ern Ports, Tenby or Swansea,

  326 r 327 "You are wrong, Llewelyn, so very wrong." Joanna brushed away tears with the back of her hand. "You do not know him as I do. Why will you not believe me? Why will you not at least try to allay my father's fears? You know he is of a mistrustful nature, know how quick he is to suspect the worst. He has never truly trusted you after you defied him and seized Powys, we both know that. And now, when he learns that you gave shelter to an enemy like William de Braose" "You do not understand at all, do you, Joanna? You still do not see. This is my land, the land of my father and his father before him and his father before him. I am of the House of Cunedda, who ruled in Gwynedd in the fifth century after the birth of the Lord Jesus Christ. Can your Norman kings trace their ancestry back seven hundred years? I think not, yet they dare to sneer at our customs, to mock our heritage and our language. "I am Welsh, Joanna, and even now you cannot comprehend what that means. Normandy, Anjou, Englandit is all the same to you of Norman birth. Your people have dwelt in England for over a hundred years, yet you do not think of yourselves as English. You do not sicken when uprooted or exiled, you do not recognize the kinship of the tribe, which goes beyond the cenedl, the kinship of blood. You know nothing of hiraeth. And you will never understand what I feel when I see Norman castles guarding Welsh mountain passes, when I hear French spoken instead of Welsh in the valley of the Rhondda, knowing French might one day be heard in the valleys of Gwynedd, too." Joanna had listened in stricken silence. Their most heated quarrels had not frightened her so much. Not since the first days of her marriage had she felt as she did now, as an alien in a world that would never make her welcome, that she could never understand. "You are right, Llewelyn," she said softly, wretchedly. "I do not understand. I would to God I could, but I do not. I love you, though. Does that count for nothing?" "I know you love me, Joanna. But you believe your father is in the right and I am in the wrong, believe all would be well if only I'd act as a proper vassal, submit myself unto the King's will." She could not deny it, and that frightened her all the more. How much strain could a marriage absorb, how many quarrels before the foundation cracked, split beyond repair? "I know that of a sudden we seem to be arguing all the time, and I hate it, I do. I will not lie to you. There have been times this summer when I have not liked you very much. But I never stop loving you/ Llewelyn, no matter how angry I get. You must believe that." She paused for breath, forced herself to ask. "You . . . you do still love me. "Ah, Joanna, how young you still are . . ." He crossed the charnber' stopped before her. "When I married you, you were an appealing, c°u' rageous child. You've grown into a beautiful, courageous woman, and I have learned to love you, breila. But" "No," she entreated, reaching up and laying her fingers against his mouth. "You say you do love me. Let's stop with that, let's not talk any more . please. Love me, Llewelyn. Make me forget all but you." He tilted her face up, kissed her, gently at first, and then he lifted her in his arms, carried her to the bed, where he did make her forget. . . for a rime. WHEN William de Braose, under escort, entered the solar of the King's castle at Bristol, he felt no surprise at sight of so many highborn witnesses: the Earls of Salisbury, Derby, Surrey, and Chester, Eustace de Vesci and Geoffrey Fitz Peter, John's Justiciar. De Braose understood all too well. There was no longer need for caution, no longer need to fear betrayal, not with de Braose's wife, son, and grandsons under close guard in this very castle. De Braose was actually glad of an audience. Derby and Chester had intervened

  on his behalf, had persuaded John to issue a safe-conduct, and de Braose thought John would be more likely to honor it in the blaze of full noon. He knelt, said, "I have come to beg my King's pardon, to ask what I must do to make amends, to regain your trust." "Indeed? Shall I tell you how to mend a broken trust? Pluck the feathers from a goose, scatter them to the four winds. Then gather them all up, each and every one, and put them back on the goose. It is as easy as that." John had won triumph after triumph during his two months in Ireland, had scattered his enemies, brought the ever-rebellious Irish barons to heel, had Maude in his hands and her husband on his knees. But he did not look like a man savoring his victories; he looked drawn and tired, almost haggard, and de Braose could take no comfort from what he read in those narrowed hazel eyes. "I have offended you, and for that I am well and truly sorry. But I am loyal to you, my liege, would never betray you. Let me prove myself. Set for me a task, I'll not fail you." De Braose sought to slow his breathmg, added very softly, "Christ, John, it never had to come to this, I swear it." John's favorite falcon was perched upon his left arm, talons digging lnto the padded leather wrist-guard. It was unhooded, made harsh, gut^tfal sounds low in its throat, and John stroked the sleek feathers with a gloved hand, spoke softly and soothingly until it quieted. "My lords of Chester and Derby, amongst others, have urged me to show mercy. I °uld not want it said that I was arbitrary, unjust. Mayhap we can yet

  318 reach an accord. If you were to pay a fine, one large enough to discharg your indebtedness to the crown, and to cover the costs I have incurred because of your rebellion, I would be willing to overlook your past of fenses, to give you and your sons full pardons." De Braose was stunned. "And my wife? What of her?" he de manded, even as he sought feverishly to detect where the snare lay. John smiled mirthlessly. "I've no wish to have her on my hands for life, that I assure you. She would be released into your custody." De Braose was still struggling with disbelief; he might have found it easier to believe John if he had not shared John's summary way with enemies. "I do accept your terms, Your Grace, am speechless, in truth," he said, wit
hout irony. "Have you an amount in mind?" "I think forty thousand marks to be a fair sum," John said, and then de Braose understood. "Indeed," he said tonelessly. "When do you want payment, my lord?" There was no surprise whatsoever when John said, "You do have a fortnight to raise the money. Will that be acceptable?" "Quite acceptable." At John's gesture, he rose to his feet, took the wine cup John was offering, his own. Their eyes held as he drank, as he drained the cup. And then John gestured again, this time in dismissal. MAUDE kept squeezing her husband's arm, as if to reassure herself of the reabty of his presence. "When they told me you were here, I could scarce believe it!" "What of Will, Annora, the lads? Are they all right?" She nodded. "Fearful, but unhurt. I'll confess, Will, that I've been none too easy myself." And even that understated admission surprised him; hers was a haughty spirit that made no allowances for frailties, that would never acknowledge weaknesses in herself. "Well? For the love of God, Will, tell me! What did John say?" "That we can buy absolution ... for forty thousand marks." "Forty thousand! You must be joking! We could never raise that, no one could. Did you not tell him so?" "He already knows." She stared at him, then sat down suddenly on the nearest coffer"We ... we could raise four, mayhap even five thousand. You could borrow from Derby and de Clare. Pembroke might even" "Maude, it would not matter. Even if, by some miracle, we begged and borrowed the entire amount, it would not matter. Can you not see He that' He deliberately demanded a sum he knows we can never pay- n is not going to give any pardons, and he is not going to let you go, n° for forty thousand marks, not for twice that amount."

  r 319 Her (ace did not at once show full comprehension; it came only in degrees, as if she were clinging as long as she could to the illusory security of denial. "Christ have mercy," she whispered. "He'll keep me caged till I rot." She rose, began to pace. "God in Heaven, how I hate that man! May his misbegotten, cankered soul rot for aye in Hell everlasting!" She raved on like that for some moments, abusing John in language even her husband could not have improved upon, at last turned back to face him, said tautly, "What mean you to do now, Will?" De Braose looked away, stared into space over her head. "There is a ship sailing at dawn for Barfleur. For the right sum, the captain will smuggle me on board." "You mean to flee to France? To abandon me and your children to John? Jesus wept, Will!" There was so much shock in her voice that he flushed, lashed out savagely. "I did what I could for you, more than you deserve, for none of this would have happened if not for you! What would it serve to share the same dungeon? I cannot help you, Maude, can only save myself now. And I'm damned if I'll feel guilty about it!" Her mouth twisted. "Do you want to tell our grandsons that, or shall I?" she jeered, and he almost hit her. Unclenching his fist, he swung away from her, toward the door. "I suppose I should wish you luck! It will not be easy, you know; I daresay John has you under close surveillance. It'll be a miracle if you even make it to the wharves." He paused, hand on the door latch. "You still do not see, do you, Maude? It was not me John wanted. It was you. It has been you from the beginning, from the day you opened your damned fool mouth and doomed us all."

  ^7 ABER, NORTH WALES May 1211 VATHERINE was being escorted across the bailey toward Joanna's chamber when she heard the screams, screams of such total terror that she gathered up her skirts, began to run. In the antechamber Branwen was retching into a water bucket, with Alison hovering helplessly nearby. The screams were abruptly choked off as Catherine reached for the door latch. Within the chamber, Llewelyn was braced against a high-backed chair, while Joanna knelt beside him, trying frantically to comfort the screaming child he held upon his lap. As Catherine watched, sickened, Llewelyn's barber straightened up, holding a pair of pincers and a small bloody tooth. Elen writhed against Llewelyn's restraining hold, let out a high, keening wail of pain, fright, and outrage. Almost from the time she could walk, she'd shown a decided preference for her father, but now it was for Mama that she sobbed, and Joanna gathered her into a close embrace. Elen's face was beet-red, her eyes swollen, her bodice stained with saliva and blood and vomit, but her parents looked no less stricken. As Joanna crooned to the weeping child, oblivious to the blood smearing her own clothing, Llewelyn rose, poured himself a full cup of mead with a hand that shook. "Christ, Catrin," he said softly, "I do not think I could go through that again for the very surety of my soul." Catherine understood exactly how he felt; a child of hers had once been subjected to the same ordeal. "You tried cloves, bettony?" s"e asked, and he nodded wearily. "Every remedy we could think of, and then Joanna lit candles to y Apollonia, but to no avail." Elen's screams had yet to abate; he read bed

  321 ut stroked the heaving little shoulder, and then retreated, leaving Jonna to minister to their daughter's pain It was a long time before Elen quieted, even longer before she slept Toanna slumped down upon a coffer, already dreading the moment vvhen Elen would awake, when her suffering would begin again "I do n0t know when I've ever been so tired, Catherine " She did look utterly exhausted, and Catherine felt a throb of pity, for she knew how bad a year it had been for Joanna A bad year for them all but above all for Joanna, who loved both John and Llewelyn, who was caught between anguished, irreconcilable loyalties Soon after William de Braose's flight to France, the Earl of Chester and the Bishop of Winchester had led an army into Gwynedd, advancmg as far as the east bank of the River Conwy, where Chester rebuilt Deganwy Castle, which Llewelyn had razed in a futile attempt to keep it out of Norman control At about the same time, John released Gwenwynwyn from his two-year confinement, giving him money and menat-arms to mount a challenge to Llewelyn's hold upon his domains Llewelyn thus found himself fighting a war on two fronts, and by December he'd been forced to withdraw from most of southern Powys But he struck back hard at Chester, making raids of reprisal into Cheshire, burning the Earl's manors and running off his livestock Christmas that year had seen smoke-filled skies on both sides of the border, and Joanna, then in the second month of a stressful pregnancy, had miscarried on Epiphany Eve With Easter, a fragile, false peace settled over the Marches All knew it would not last Chester's men were still entrenched m Deganwy, and Llewelyn would never accept an alien presence on Welsh soil Gwenwynwyn was now back in power in Powys, with a blood score to settle And John had spent the spring forging alliances of expediency with Maelgwn and Rhys Gryg What should have been a season of rebirth and renewal was now no more than a time of uneasy waiting, was to be but a brief prelude to a summer of war "Joanna how is it between Llewelyn and you these days7 Are YOU getting on better7" "Yes, we are," Joanna said, then gave Catherine a sad smile "But 'hat is because he has been so often gone from Aber this spring " "You argue about John, about your father7" Catherine asked tentahvely, and Joanna nodded In the past year her life with Llewelyn had fallen into a disquieting Pattern sudden, sharp quarrels during the daylight hours, later reconC1'ed m bed "I love him, Catherine, and I believe he still loves me

  322 But. . . but we find little to laugh about these days, and I remember how we used to laugh together all the time ..." She rose, reassured herself that Elen still slept, and then turned back to Catherine. "When all began to go sour between my father and Llewelyn, I blamed Llewelyn for much of it, Catherine. I kept thinking if only he'd try harder to earn Papa's trust, if only he were not so set upon having his own way, so prideful. . . But then my father sent the Earl of Chester into Gwynedd, gave Gwenwynwyn the means of making war upon Llewelyn. Oh, God, Catherine, how could he? However angry he was with Llewelyn, did he never think of me? For my sake, could he not have found another wayr JOANNA was alone in their bedchamber, waiting for Llewelyn. Branwen had unbraided her hair, and she reached for the silver-backed brush Llewelyn had given her just four days ago, on their fifth wedding anniversary. As she did, her eyes fell upon a small crystalline stone, mottled with bronze streaks. Picking up the jasper pebble, she fingered it pensively. The stone was no talisman, was a goad to memories she'd rather not recall, memories of her January miscarriage. But brake-root was not any more effective than jasper as a contraceptive. Isabe
lle had become pregnant within days of their confidential conversation at Woodstock, had given birth to a daughter while John was pursuing Maude de Braose in Ireland. That, too, was a memory Joanna preferred not to dwell upon, for she'd had an utterly unexpected reaction to the birth of her half-sister. She'd never realized how much it mattered to herbeing John's only daughter amongst eight sonsnot until it was no longer true, until Isabelle had given John a fair-haired baby girl and he'd given her Joanna's own name. It was a common if confusing Norman custom to have legitimate and baseborn children share the same name; John had twice christened sons Henry and Richard. But Joanna could not keep from reading a superstitious significance into John's choice of names, could not keep from being hurt by that choice. She'd had ten months to accustom herself to the loss of her privileged status, no longer felt jealous of the baby sister she'd yet to see. But she had not heard from her father for months, not since that past autumn, and on this warm night in mid-May, she felt forlorn and forgotten and very much afraid of what the future might hold. Suddenly sensing she was no longer alone, she looked up, saw Llewelyn standing in the doorway. "I did not hear you come in. Have you been there long?" She gave him a self-conscious smile, for she did not like to be watched unaware. "I finally had to give Elen a mild sleeping