362 pa children so infrequently. Isabelle seemed proud of them, bragged ab them often enough, but she reminded Joanna of Elen, who lavish much love upon her dolls, but only when she wanted to play at bein mother. As the children departed, Joanna rose, too. "I want to see pa tonight, think I'd best go ere it gets too late." Isabelle, too, had been a witness to that scene in the great hall Sh gave Joanna a wryly sympathetic smile, shook her head. '"Blessed a the peacemakers, for they shall be called the children of God.' That rnav be true in Heaven, but they get precious little credit here on earth darling." "What would you have me do, Isabelle? Just stand by, watch and do nothing? What would you do if you were in my place? If you were the one being torn between husband and father?" But even as she asked, Joanna realized the futility of expecting Isabelle to experience another's pain. She was coming to see that Isabelle's emotional landscape was an alien world to her, a world in which flowers bloomed upon the surface in generous, dazzling profusion, but nothing was rooted deep. Isabelle was frowning; the blue eyes were soft with pity. At last deciding that she could best serve Joanna by helping her to face the realities of her predicament, she said candidly, "I would be as loving a wife and daughter as I could. I would try not to let their hatred for each other poison their love for me. I would try to make each one see that I understood his grievances against the other. Above all, Joanna, I would try to reconcile myself to a bitter truththat there could be no happy ending." "THE hearth fire is almost out, Papa. Shall I fetch a servant to stoke it?" "No, do not bother. But you can get me another cup of wine." Joanna obeyed, although she suspected that he'd already had more than enough wine that night. As soon as she'd been given admittance into his chamber, found him sitting all alone in shadowed gloom, she d abandoned her intention to talk to him about his latest clash with Llewelyn. This was not the time for it. "Isabelle tells me that you mean to give Uncle Will custody of Cantebrigge Castle. That's most generous of you, Papa." "I suppose," John agreed absently. He was gazing into the dy e fire, so absorbed in his own thoughts that Joanna made no furtne tempts at conversation. When Llewelyn drank too much, he tende get playful, laughing a lot and making atrociously bad puns and eve '^ ally becoming amorous. But John's drinking had a darker, more dis
363 2 texture to it, she'd never seen him well and truly drunk, knew she Jd not want to "You do not think he could actually have second sight7" "No," Joanna said hastily, if not entirely truthfully, "of course not1
364 He looked at her, and for a moment she truly thought he vvas eoin to answer. But he said only, "Things God could never forgive." "That's not so, Papa. There is no sin so great that God cannot { give it." He took her hand in his, raised it to his lips, and then he lauehed backed away. "Do not believe it, lass, not for a moment! There is n forgiveness, either in this world or the next." "You're wrong, Papa." Joanna drew a deep breath, said, « cou]j forgive you any sin." John gave her an odd smile, shook his head. "No, lass/' he said "You could not." He moved to the table, with an unsteady hand poured hi^gif an_ other cupful of wine. "If that mad old man be right, I'll have reigned for fourteen years. Passing strange, for it seems longer, much lortger " j-je turned back to face Joanna, still with that strange smile. "There is but one lesson worth learning, one you must teach your children, Joanna. That nothing in life turns out as we thought it would, nothing " ON a cloudy, cool day in late May, the Welsh Princes came to Aber. Llewelyn greeted them in the great hall, but he then led thert into his own chamber for the privacy such a volatile gathering required. He had not been entirely sure that they all would come. But he kn«jw that if Maelgwn came, so, too, would his brother, Rhys Gryg. There was no love between them, but they had finally reached a grudging accord, more than a truce, less than an alliance. There was no question in his mind that his cousins Madog and Hywel would come, for he knew neither one was proud of the part he'd played in last summer's campaign. And Gwenwynwyn would come if the others did, for he had far too suspicious a nature to allow such a council to take place without him- "I thought Aber was burned, compliments of your wife's father." There was mockery in Gwenwynwyn's smile, but Llewelyn ignored it, said evenly, "I had it rebuilt... on a larger scale." Maelgwn took a seat next to Ednyved, giving him a cool nod; theV were brothers by marriage, but not friends. "What of my renega(^e nephews? Did you not invite them?" "Owain and Rhys were unwilling to come," Llewelyn s^id regret' fully. "Their defeat at John's hands seems to have left lasting scars up0" their souls." He saw no reason not to come straight to the poin'- expect you've guessed why I asked you to Aber, to talk about forrnin?a league of amity. I think it time we put aside our differences, band t°" gether against a common enemy, the English King." "You expect us to forget years of bad blood, mistrust, betray3'5'
T 365 Gvvenwynwyn's voice was scornful. "Nor do I believe you've suddenly become such a bloody saint yourself, willing to overlook the part we played in Your defeat at Aberconwy." "I've no claims to sainthood, but I like to think I'm capable of learnne from past mistakes. What about you, Gwenwynwyn? Can you say as much?" "You think I could ever trust you? I'd sooner deal with the Devil!" Llewelyn shrugged. "You think you could ever trust John?" Madog had yet to take a seat. Now he moved toward Llewelyn, stopped in front of him. "Your mother and my father were sister and brother; that makes ours the most significant of bonds, one of blood. It eives me the right to speak plainly. You're making a great mistake, Cousin. John's hatred for you is mortal. You move into the Perfeddwlad, and you'll see an English army in Wales within a fortnight. He'll take all of Gwynedd this time, Llewelyn, and then he'll burn every hut, every tree if need be, in order to run you to earth. Need I tell you what befalls a man charged with treason? He's dragged behind a horse to the gallows, hanged and cut down whilst he still breathes, gelded and disemboweled ere he's finallyand mercifullybeheaded. And there are even worse deaths. You need only remember Maude de Braose's fate." Llewelyn had heard enough. "You're overlooking something, Madog. Whether I keep the truce or not, sooner or later John would find an excuse to move against me. Besides . . . this time I do not intend to lose." Madog shook his head; there was on his face an expression of genuine regret. "As you will. But I want no part in this. If I must come to terms with the English King in order to hold on to my lands, so be it. I know the limits of my power, would that you did yours." He walked to the door, paused. "I wish you luck, Cousin. I very much fear you'll need it" With Madog's departure, a pall settled over the room. Llewelyn sought to dispel it by saying defiantly, "Of course we can do nothing, £an 8° on as we always have, fighting one another, allowing the English ngs to play their sport of divide and conquer. Is that what you want, ae'gwn? You want to wait until John has the time to deal with your ellion, until you find yourself facing an English army?" You made a mistake in taking Ceredigion," Maelgwn said coolly. na then I made one in backing John. I expect that makes us even . . . lik 3St ^°r now- Y°u do not have to talk me into an alliance. I might not 11 any; for certes, I do not like you. But it makes sense." v , We'yn grinned, looked toward the others. "What say the rest of y^el nodded, grinned back. Rhys Gryg glanced over at his
366 T 367 brother, then rose to his feet. Maelgwn was by far the more physically impressive of the two. Rhys was balding, freckled, with bloodshot blue eyes and a harsh, rasping voice, the result of a throat injury which had earned him the name Rhys Gryg, Rhys the Hoarse. As Llewelyn thought him to be fully as capable as his brother, although less trustworthy, he waited tensely for the older man's verdict. "It seems to me," Rhys Gryg said slowly, "that you could act verily as a magnet for disaster, could draw John's wrath down upon us all. You did not have much luck against John last summer. What makes you think this time it will be different?" "I made it easy for John, let him cut me off from my natural alliesother Welshmen. This time he will not be able to play us off against each other. This time we're not acting as rebels, but at the urging of the Pope. And this time we'll have allies. I've sent envoys to the French court; even now they are negotiating an alliance with Philip." Rhys Gryg looke
d startled, then impressed. "That alone would sign your death warrant with John," he said. "I see you've been thinking about this for a long while." "I've had nine months in which to think of little else. We seem to agree that the English kings have had great success in exploiting our weaknesses. But two can fish in those troubled waters, and John's enemies are beyond counting. When I was at the English court this Easter, I spoke with some of them. They're men who hate John even more than they fear him, men who want him dead. If he leads an army into Wales, that will give them the opportunity they've been waiting for. If he crosses into Gwynedd, he'll find that he has as much to fear from his own lords as he does from the Welsh." Llewelyn paused. "Need I say more?" "No," Rhys Gryg said succinctly, and for the first time he smiled. By common accord, all eyes then turned toward Gwenwynwyn. He looked so perturbed that Llewelyn could not keep from laughing. "It's rather like being asked to choose between dwelling in Sodom or moving to Gomorrah, is it not?" he gibed, and Gwenwynwyn scowled. But when the other men laughed, he, too, managed a very sour smile, a grudging nod. JOANNA'S hair was unbraided, fell loose and free to her hips. Lleweiy entwined a long strand around his fingers, made of it a soft noose for w throat, entangling them both in its coil. "Your hair always smells lemon," he murmured. "Did I ever tell you how much I like that? Joanna said nothing. She could feel his breath on her cheek, a then his mouth was on hers. It was an unhurried, easy kiss, strong- flavored with wine. He'd released her hair, and his hands were wander. _ at will over her body, his mouth tracking the curve of her throat. Joanna did not move, not even when he loosened the bodice of her own, cupped and caressed her breast with a warm, knowing hand. He kissed her again, exploring her mouth as he was exploring her body, and then stepped back, abruptly ended the embrace. "That kiss, Madame, could well give a man frostbite. What ails you, Joanna?" "This afternoon I entered the antechamber, found that Madog had left our bedchamber door ajar. I listened at that door, Llewelyn, listened as you and the other Welsh Princes made plans for war." "I see. Just what did you hear?" When she did not reply, he said, "Joanna, tell me!" "I heard you talking of Norman barons who mean to betray my father. I heard Rhys Gryg say these men wanted my father dead, and I heard him ask if you, too, sought Papa's death. You said you did." "Not so, Joanna. I said that I would gladly see him dead, but I seek only to reclaim what is mine. I do not forget the vast and sovereign powers of the English King. Nor that you are of his blood. If he stays out of my lands, I
shall be content. But if he leads an army into my realm, I will defend myself and mine as best I can, and make no apologies for it ... not even to you." "My father has given you cause to hate him; I find no fault with you for that. I do not want to quarrel with you, not with so much at stake. I know you so well, Llewelyn, know the secrets of your heart, your soul. You have ever been decisive, little given to self-doubts, but you are not impulsive. I must assume, then, that you have thought on this long and hard, that you are fully aware of what the consequences might be. And that is what I find so difficult to understand. You do realize what you are risking? Our son's inheritance. Our marriage. Your son Gruffydd's freedom. Above all, your life. You do know that?" "Yes," he said, "I know." She took a step toward him, held out her hands, palms up, in a gesture of despairing entreaty. "Why, Llewelyn? Sweet Jesus, why?" Joanna, I would that I had an answer for you, one you could ac- ePt- I do in truth understand the risks. There are nights when I lie *e/ when I cannot keep my thoughts from dwelling upon disaster, c"°n aU I have to lose. I think of my son as a prisoner of the English n, and I think of you, a widow at the age of one and twenty." out still you mean to do this, still you are set upon war." "Yes/' he said bleakly. irrn s°me moments of silence, he moved to her, pulled her into his nis time she did not stand rigid and unresponsive in his em-
368 JT 369 brace; she clung tightly. "You are rushing headlong to your own destruction," she whispered, "and I know not how to save you." 3° NOTTINGHAM, ENGLAND August 1212 Nc LN OTTINGHAM Castle was one of John's favorite residences, for it was all but impregnable against attack, situated on a cliff above the River Leen, with three baileys encircled by deep, dry moats. But Richard knew they would not be long at Nottingham; in just five days John was assembling an army at Chester. John had gone at once into the great hall, but Richard was still loitering out in the middle bailey, watching as their baggage carts were unloaded. He was in no hurry to join his father, for John's temper was very much on the raw during this, the fourteenthand if Peter the Hermit was to be believed, the lastsummer of his reign. His victories in Scotland, Ireland, and Wales had encouraged John to look Channelward. Time had not reconciled him to the loss of Normandy, and in the spring he'd begun making plans for an invasion of France. The summer of 1212, he assured Richard, was to be a season of retribution. And indeed it was proving to be just that, Richard thought grimly/ but not precisely as his father had anticipated. John was at the Scots border when word reached him of his son-in-law's rebellion. Llewelyn had chosen his time with care, and within a month he'd retaken all ot the Perfeddwlad, save only Deganwy and Rhuddlan Castles. ' i--i raaP that K.n^.v*., , j ^ Richard had never seen his father in such a violent rage, a rage .i i~U^i hi that Richard had never seen ms lamci m um.1. « ,,^.^,* .-<-,-, fed upon itself, gained ground with each passing day until John bega to seem obsessed, so intent was he upon exacting vengeance. Philip ^a reprieved, the French invasion abandoned. There would be war, but battlefield would be Wales. John gave orders for his vassals to gather Chester, gave orders to recruit more than two thousand carpenters a ix thousand laborers, men to follow in his army's wake and erect castles cross the conquered land. None doubted that this was to be much more than a punitive campaign of retaliation. It was to be war with no quarter given, a war that would end only with Llewelyn's death and the con- uest of his country. Turning back toward the great hall, Richard saw his Uncle Will standing on the outer stairs; Will, too, had begun to avoid John whenever possible. They stood in silence for some moments, their thoughts tracking the same bleak trail. "When your Uncle Richard was at war with Philip, they took to blinding each other's soldiers." Will grimaced. "I fear, lad, that this war shall be just as bitter, just as bloody. Know you that John is now offering a bounty for Welsh heads? He paid one man six shillings for six heads last week." "Yes," Richard said, "I know," very much wishing that he did not. "For a time I'd hoped that the London fire would turn John's mind from this war. Much of Southwark is but ashes and rubble, and I heard it said that more than a thousand people died. The homeless have to be sheltered, the injured tended, and John generally takes a personal interest in making sure that fire or flood victims are cared for. But not now. Now he can think of nothing except making his daughter a widow." Just then, Richard's other uncle, William de Warenne, Earl of Surrey, appeared in the doorway behind them. "John wants you both," he said. "He's just learned
that Llewelyn ab lorwerth and the French King have entered into a treaty of alliance." Richard and Will exchanged looks of dismay, for they both knew that had always been John's greatest fear, that his enemies should unite against him, that he should find himself fighting a war on two fronts. John was striding up and down before the open hearth, clutching a crumpled parchment. He thrust it at Will, saying, "Read for yourself, »e what that Welsh whoreson has dared to do!" Richard, reading over Will's shoulder, saw that it was a letter from Uewelyn to Philip, one that spoke of a treaty "between the kingdom of the French and the principality of North Wales," that promised LleweVn would be a friend to Philip's friends and an enemy to his enemies. 'How did you get this, John?" Will asked, and John gestured imPatiently. How do you think? I've paid informants at the French court." atching the letter back, he scanned it rapidly. "Listen to this. '. . . by ' Q s grace, I and all the Princes of Wales unanimously leagued to- er have manfully resisted ourand yourenemies, and with ^ s help we have by force of arms recovered from the yoke of their nny a large part of the land and the strongly defended castles which
370 r 373 they by fraud and deceit h
ad occupied, and having recovered them, We hold them strongly in the might of the Lord.'" The more John read, the angrier he became. "God rot his wretched soul for this," he spat. "But if he thinks Philip is going to save his skin he's in for a bitter shock. What was it they said of the Romans, Will, that they made a desert and called it peace? That will be Wales, too, by Christ it will, and Llewelyn ab lorwerth will go to his grave knowing that he brought destruction upon his people, he and he alone. Let him look out over the burning crops and smoldering woodlands, let him count the bodies and then say it was worth the price!" He swung about, beckoned to the nearest man. "I want a gallows built in the bailey, and then I want to see Llewelyn's Welsh hostages hanging from it, each and every one. Maelgwn's, too. See to it ... now." His fury had dulled his perception, and it was several moments before he became aware of the utter silence. He turned, found they were all staring at him. "My liege." The Earl of Chester stepped forward, said quietly, "My liege, I would advise against that. I do not deny Llewelyn has given you cause. But if you kill the hostages, your war will become a blood feud. You'll find yourself fighting the Welsh for the next twenty years." He lowered his voice still further, said, "Even more to the point, how are your own lords likely to react? If you hang these Welsh hostages, what do you think will happen the next time you ask a man to yield up his son? He might well prefer rebellion." "Or do exactly what he's told, knowing now what will be at stake." Chester was first and foremost a realist. He'd done what he could to dissuade John from committing an act that he saw as neither morally justifiable nor politically expedient. Having failed, his concern now was to disassociate himself from the killing to come, and he was quite willing to defer to the Earl of Pembroke. If Chester's objections had been coolly rational, dispassionate, Pembroke's plea was unashamedly emotional. "My lord, listen to me. When I was a little lad, my lord father rose up in rebellion against King Stephen. My father had given me as a hostage, and the King warned nitf that I'd be hanged if he failed to keep faith. My father sent back word that he had the hammer and anvil with which to forge other sons, and was taken out to be hanged. I was but six and I did not understand, thought it was all a game, and I laughed even as they put the noo about my neck. King Stephen watched, and was moved to mercystopped the hanging, with his own hands removed the rope." He paused, but John said nothing. If he was moved, like Step" ' by pity, it did not show in his face. Pembroke walked toward him/s "Some of those Welsh hostages are just lads, have not yet reached manhood. My lord, I ask you not to do this. Do not take your vengeance Up0n the innocent." "You'd do better to tell that to Llewelyn ab lorwerth," John said coldly- "He's the one who chose to gamble with the innocent, not I. If his son's life means so little to him, why should it mean more to me? No, jny lord Pembroke, he set the stakes for this wager. I'm merely collecting what's due me." Will had been listening in appalled silence. He'd known this war would be a brutal one, but the cold-blooded killing of helpless hostages, many of them youngsters, far exceeded his worst expectations. "John, I beg you . . ." "Do not, Will. Do not." Their eyes locked, held until Will could bear it no longer, had to look away. "At least," he mumbled, knowing how ineffectual his protest was and despising himself for it, "at least spare Llewelyn's son . . . for Joanna's sake. If you murder the boy, Llewelyn will be bound to blame her. Do not do that to her, John." "It matters little whether Llewelyn blames her or not. He'll be dead ere the
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