468 "John ..." Isabelle braced herself. "The Welsh Princes have ridden in/' she said, and winced at his sudden smile. "My love, I'm so sorry, but . . . but Llewelyn did not bring Joanna with him. John, he came alone." WHENEVER he stayed in Oxford, John held court in the palace known as the Domus Regis, the King's House; it was his birthplace and a favorite royal residence. But it was also situated outside the city walls, and for his July confrontation with the charter committee of twenty-five, he bypassed the more comfortable King's House for the greater security of the eleventh-century castle. It was there that he welcomed the Welsh Princes, and there that he accepted their oaths of homage and fealty. AS Llewelyn glanced about the chamber at the men mingling in apparent harmony, his sense of unreality intensified. He could almost believe he'd stumbled into some lunatic land in which nature's laws were mocked and madness reigned. The committee of twenty-five had been in session all week, hearing appeals of men who felt themselves wronged by John, and Oxford seemed populated by John's enemies. Giles de Braose alone was absent; he and his brother Reginald had balked at taking part in the Runnymede settlement, at making any peace with John. Llewelyn was turning as a voice murmured just behind him, in Welsh, "Would you care to wager how long their Runnymede peace lasts?" "Till Michaelmas?" Llewelyn hazarded, and Maelgwn gave a shrug, a twisted smile. "I've just heard a story I can scarce credit, but Saer de Quincy swears it to be true. John was to arrive on Thursday last from Woodstock, but he did not reach the city till the morrow, and sent word that his illness would prevent him from leaving the castle. He wanted the barons to hold their council in his chamber, but they refused, insisted that he come to them." Maelgwn drained his wine cup. "I would," he said, "have given a great deal to witness that." ° t\o Llewelyn would never think of Maelgwn as a friend, but in ' the Llewelyn would never think of Maelgwn as a friend, but in three years they'd been allies, he had developed a grudging respect the other man. He'd watched as Maelgwn knelt before John, recel ^ the kiss of peace from the man who'd murdered his sons, and wonde ^ if he'd have found Maelgwn's resolve had Gruffydd, too, died at tingham Castle.
469 "I said Michaelmas, but it could be even sooner. John has as many enemies as he has barons, and I truly think that at last he is going to reap what he's sown. And when he does, Maelgwn, Christ Jesus, what an opportunity for the Welsh! Once John is hopelessly bogged down in a yfal with his own barons, we move into South Wales, move against the l[orman enclaves in Deheubarth and Powys." "We?" Maelgwn echoed, cocking a sardonic brow. "So the Prince of Gvvynedd will lead an army south to fight with us against the Normans? Most magnanimous, my lord, but I wonder what Gwenwynwyn will think of your generosity. I suspect he'd say we might be exchanging one army of occupation for another." "I daresay he will. But what of you, Maelgwn? What say you?" "Oh, I expect I will give you the benefit of the doubt. But what I will not give you is Ceredigion." Llewelyn laughed. "I prefer to make new mistakes, not to keep repeating the same ones over and over. I learned a hard lesson four summers ago at Aberconwy, but I learned it well. Welsh disunity is the most potent weapon the Normans have, and we alone can deny it to them." "My lord ..." A servant was approaching, clad in the King's livery. "My lord, the King wants to speak with you. Will you follow me to his chamber?" This was a summons Llewelyn had been expecting. "Like all here in Oxford, I serve the King's pleasure," he said dryly, and Maelgwn laughed for the first time since arriving at the English King's court. "i WANT no war with the Welsh. I want this peace to last." John spoke slowly, drawing his words out for emphasis, to stress his sincerity. "I would hope you believe that." Llewelyn did; even John could handle only one war at a time. This was the first close encounter he'd had with John since the oath-taking, and he was startled to see what ravages three years had wrought. John's eyes were bloodshot and puffy, his waist thickening, his gestures * rapt. He looked more than ill, he looked haunted, and Llewelyn sudn|y remembered the judgment he'd once heard an Augustinian monk Pass uP°n the English King. A great Prince, the monk had said, but Scar*ly a happy one. A silence had fallen between them. John knew he had more dan"nu°f?S enemies than the Welsh Prince, but there were few he hated as 0 ' fnc* rarety had anything come harder to him than this overture of -iel' K Prove to you that I mean what I say, I am granting you two lire* manors' Bidford in Warwickshire and Suckley in Worcester-
470 T 471 Llewelyn was not impressed. How much English land did John think the lives of twenty-eight Welsh hostages were worth? "I shall hold the manors for my daughter Elen," he said coolly, "to be part of her marriage portion when she's of an age to wed." John nodded. Assuming he'd been dismissed, Llewelyn rose, made an obeisance as meaningless to him as the oath of homage he'd had to offer to the English King. But as he reached the door, John could hold back no longer. "I freed your son, just as I promised. So why, then, did you not bring Joanna with you? She's not seen me for three years; how could you keep her away?" "I did not forbid Joanna to come. That was her choice." "You expect me to believe that?" "I do not much care what you believe." "I know you've tried to turn Joanna against me. But I know my daughter, know she'd not believe your lies, your" "Lies?" Llewelyn moved away from the door. "There are twentyeight families to testify to the truth of Nottingham Castle. To you, a Welsh death might count for less. But to Joanna, a child is a child. You murdered my hostages to take vengeance upon me, but you hurt Joanna, too. She still dreams of that lad you hanged at Shrewsbury, Maelgwn's son. Only in her dreams, it is Davydd, her son, on your gallows." "I'll tell you who I blame for Joanna's painyou! If you'd let her come to me, I could have explained, could have made her understand that I only did what I had to do. I hanged those hostages because you broke faith. They'd still be alive now, had you not betrayed them. Once you did, I had no choice. I had to set an example, but you forced me to it." "It does not surprise me that you find it so easy to justify the deaths of children. But what of murder done in the dark? How do you justify starving a woman and her son to death?" To Llewelyn's surprise, John flushed. Only then did he realize that this might well be the first time John had been held accountable f"r Maude's murder, for her family and friends had been exiled or intimidated, and John's family and friends did not truly want to know. "They died in one of my prisons," John said, after a lengthy pau56' "but I did not seek their deaths. Despite what you and others think- am not responsible." For a man nurtured on parental falsehoods, a man to whom 'X was now not so much habitual as reflex, it was a surprisingly uncon ^ ing defense. Llewelyn slowly shook his head. "Is that what y°u want me to tell your daughter?" For once, John could think of nothing to say. The look on Ll^ lyn's face was one he'd seen before. The man who'd come to tell ^ that Maude and her son were dead was a trusted servant, a man wl^ shown himself to be immune to conscience, impervious to scruples there'd been in his eyes something John had never expected, a look, judgment, of involuntary revulsion. And it was only then that John L, realized the full measure of what he'd done. He'd given in to Angevin rages before, said things better forgot^ given commands he later regretted. But he'd never done anything L could not afterward justify to himself. Not until he'd allowed himself take an unforgivable vengeance upon Maude de Braose and her soj Not until he'd seen the truth in a soldier's eyes, that there were son, acts nothing could justify. He felt no grief for Maude, no remorse. What he did feel was hard(, for him to admit, to deal withshame. He did not think he was ar,, more cruel, any more vengeful than other men, than his brothers, ^ enemies. But he could not defend what he'd done to the de Braosej could only put the memory from him as an
aberrant act, a tragic mis, take. All men have things in their pasts that they'd change if they could All men. But that was not an argument he could make, not to Llewelyn ab lorwerth. The Welshman's eyes had taken on the glitter of dark ice. he was seeking absolution, he'd come to the wrong church. "I should never have given my daughter to you. Of all the mistakes I've ever made, that must rank amongst the biggest." "Is that the message you'd have me give Joanna? That our marriage was a mistake?" "No, dam
n you, it is not! Tell Joanna . . . tell my daughter that she wil] always be that, my daughter, and she will always be welcome at my court." 'N mid-August came a second letter from the Pope, castigating Stephen ^ngton and some of the English bishops for not giving John greater Support against his barons and ordering the Archbishop forthwith to e*communicate all "disturbers of the King and kingdom." When Lang°n refused to comply, the papal legate Pandulf suspended him as Archbl*op of Canterbury. it was late September when the papal bull Etsi Karissimus reached gland. Condemning the Runnymede charter as "shameful and base illegal and unjust," as "concessions thus extorted from a great , "Ce who had taken the Cross," it declared the charter to be "null and ldof all validity forever." n September 30, a disloyal castellan surrendered the great royal n I
472 fortress of Rochester to the rebels. On October 13, John seized the city and laid siege to the castle. By then, Fitz Walter and his cohorts had already opened negotiations at the French court, had offered the English crown to Louis Capet, the eldest son of the French King. 39 TTWYN, NORTH WALES January 1216 JL/LEWELYN led his army into South Wales in early December. Joined by the other Welsh Princes, he laid siege to the Norman fortress of Carmarthen, which had been for more than seventy years the center of royal power in the Tywi Valley; it fell to Llewelyn in just five days. The castles of Cydweli, Llanstephan, St Clears, Langharne, Narbeth, and Newport were taken in rapid succession. On the day after Christmas, the Welsh added Cardigan and Cilgerran castles to their list of conquests, and a jubilant Welsh chronicler recorded that "the Welsh returned joyfully to their homes, but the French, driven out of all their holds, wandered hither and thither like birds in melancholy wise." RARELY had a winter been so mild. The sea was a placid blue, and the beach glistened like powdered crystal, more than justifying Tywyns namea shining seashore. Alison spun around in an exuberant circle/ arms and skirts flying. "It feels verily like spring, Madame!" Joanna, too, was enjoying the warmth of the sun on her tac "Davydd? Would you like to help me build a sand castle? Davydd . what's wrong?" Davydd was cradling his arm at an awkward angle. "I fell/ ^T-j Joanna experienced a dizzying jolt of panic at first sight of the o soaking her son's tunic, but a hasty examination of his injury reass ^ her that although the cut was deep, it was not serious. Alison wa ready unfastening her veil, and Joanna's bodyguard was holding °
473 daKKer- Slicing Davydd's sleeve, Joanna tied a makeshift bandage and then, seeing that Davydd was on the verge of tears, she said swiftly, "Do jou know why you bled when you cut yourself on that shell? There are conduits in your arm, called veins, which carry the blood from your liver." As she had hoped, that interested Davydd. "Where's my liver, Ma"ia?" "I'm not truly sure; near your stomach, I think. I do know it is the source for love and carnal lust." She had an inspiration then, and jerked off her own veil. "Here," she said, and fashioned for her son a sling. "Now you look like a soldier coming home from the war. Do you think you can walk back to the monastery? If not, I can send Marc to fetch your pony." "I can walk, Mama." Davydd handed Alison his collection of shells, and they started across the sand. Joanna had laughed when Llewelyn once asked her if Davydd was not too quiet for his age; with her, the boy was rarely still, was a veritable fount of questions and queries and curious non sequiturs. His injury had not bridled his tongue any, and he soon transformed their walk into an inquisition, wanting to know what caused high tide, why blood was red, why love sprang from the liver and not from the spleen, as laughter did. "Show some mercy; one question at a time!" Davydd grinned. "All right. Are there elephants in England?" Joanna sighed; elephants were Davydd's newest passion, and he could happily discuss their odd ways for hours on end. "No, I think not. Elephants live only in faraway lands like Ethiopia and India." "Are there dragons in England, then?" So it was not elephants at all; it was England. "There have been reports of English dragons, but I've never met anyone who actually saw one, Davydd." "Uncle Rhys told me he heard of a place in England, called Stroke or Stripe, where men are born with tails. Is that true, Mama?" Joanna laughed. "You mean Strood, in Kent. That's but a folktale. trood is close by Rochester Castle, and I was often there with my fawer. But I saw nary a single tail!" Davydd looked disappointed. "Mayhap they hide their tails in their nics.' He stOppecj to pick up a shell. "Rochester Castle ... is that not "here the fighting was?" c J^nna nodded. "But the fighting is over now at Rochester." The ^ e had been surrendered to the King after a seven-week siege. 'The ^ has headed north, into Yorkshire. The rebels are allied with Alex- «nd *' *e Scots King/ anc* some °f tnem even d'd homage to him for "i Northumbria. Alexander has been raiding over the border, and A
474 my father wants to drive him back into Scotlandalso to punish the rebels." How much more should she tell him? She'd vowed that she'd not keep anything from her children again, but how much truth could a seven-year-old handle? Did Davydd need to know that John's army was wreaking bloody vengeance upon the North? Did he need to know that rebel manors were being torched, livestock slain, that terrified towns were offering John lavish sums to be spared the fate of Berwick upon Tweed, burned to the ground, its citizens slaughtered? "Is it a bad war, Mama?" "To me, all wars are bad, Davydd, but that is a woman's view. In war, soldiers sometimes do great evil, and the innocent suffer. It need not always be that way, though. Your father controlled his men at Shrewsbury. But my father would notor could notcontrol his men at Berwick, and many people died." "Will the King win his war with the barons?" "I'm not sure, Davydd. Your father says the odds are in his favor, since his army is made up of mercenaries, routiers. They're seasoned soldiers, you see, men who earn their living by their swords. Llewelyn thinks my father is likely to prevail, unless the French give substantial aid to the rebels. They have offered the crown to Louis, the French King's son, but Philip is loath to incur the Pope's wrath again. Whilst he did allow Louis to send seven thousand French troops to London, he is discouraging Louis from coming over himself, and that is what the rebels truly need, a Prince they can rally around." Davydd slanted her a sidelong glance. "Mama ... do you want the King to win?" It had not escaped Joanna that Davydd invariably referred to John as "the King," never as "your father." She knew the little boy was confused by her relationship to John, but she did not want to lie to him, and she said slowly, "You know that John has committed grievous sins. But he is still my father, Davydd, and so I have to say yes, I do hope he will prevail over the rebels." "But. . . but what if he wins, and then he makes war on Papa?" He'd gone unerringly to the heart of Joanna's dilemma. But as she looked into his upturned face, she suddenly realized what he was really asking, realized how threatened he felt by her kinship to the Englist1 King. "I would hope it never comes to that, Davydd. But if it did, would want your father to win. You and Elen and Llewelyn are my 'anl ily, and Wales my home." That was what Davydd needed to hear, and he reached up, slid free hand into hers. "Papa would win," he said confidently. "He too*
T 475 those castles from the Normans. He's a good battle commander, js j, not, Mama?" "The best, love. This was the first time, Davydd, that all the Welsh princes banded together, offered a united front to the Normans. And jt vvas your father's doing, as is this conference on the banks of the River Dyfi. All of the Welsh Princes have gathered in answer to Llewelyn's summons, and that, too, is a first. Your father is seeking to make a lasting peace in the south between Maelgwn, Rhys Gryg, and their nephews, and to bring it about, he has proposed an equitable partition of Deheubarth amongst them." "What of all they won from the Normans? Is Papa not going to keep any of that land?" "No, Davydd, he made no claims for himself. Do you know why? Because your father is a very clever man. He's gaining something from this peace that is of far greater value than land or castles, something of historic significance. That is why he sent for us, so that we could witness what is to happen." Davydd's eyes had widened. "What, Mama?" Joanna smiled. "You'll find out," she said, "on the morrow!" A MAN standing on the bank of the River Dyfi could look north into Gwynedd, south into Ceredigion, and Llewelyn had selected the river estuary
as an appropriate site for his peace conference. It had taken all of his diplomatic and political skills and nearly a week of wrangling among the participants, but in the end Llewelyn had prevailed, and on a mild, sunlit morning in January, a formal partition of Deheubarth was proclaimed. Joanna had chosen an inconspicuous spot near Llewelyn's tent, one that nonetheless afforded an unobstructed view of the ceremonies taking place upon the white sands of Aberdyfi. As the agreed-upon division of the various cantrefs and commotes was read aloud to the assembled lords, Davydd lost interest, began to fidget with his sling. Joanna had been unable to convince him that he did not need it; he'd even managed to fasten his mantle so that the sling was still visible. 'If you do not stop squirming," she murmured, "you are going to "to the surprise." "Well, when will it happen, Mama?" "NT 'Now," Joanna said. An expectant silence had fallen; men were lng to get closer to their Princes. As all watched, Maelgwn crossed fe | Sand, knelt before Llewelyn, and swore an oath of homage and y to the Prince of Gwynedd. Rhys Gryg, who'd been freed from an
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