546 r "No, thank God!" Gwladys said, and laughed at Joanna's startle^ look. "You do not know her, do you? Take it from me, the Lady Eva Marshal is a bitch, every bit as haughty and obdurate as her brother Pembroke." Joanna was only half listening; she had no interest whatsoever in Will's wife. She'd not expected this, that she'd feel so flustered at the thought of seeing Will de Braose again. She did not truly know him, theirs had been a brief afternoon encounter more than twelve years past. But she'd thought of him often since learning of Maude's fate, and she knew suddenly that of all the de Braoses, it was Will she'd always most dreaded to face. "You do not like Will, do you, Gwladys? Would you tell me why?" "Well, he did oppose my marriage to his father, so from the beginning there was tension betwixt us. But it's more than that, Joanna. I think he's a dangerous man, the sort that breaks hearts and heads with equal ease. Down in Deheubarth, the Welsh call him Gwilym Ddu." "Black Will?" Joanna echoed in surprise. "That's passing strange, for I remember his hair as being very light, a flaxen color." "It still is," Gwladys said, very dryly. "I see. He's not very well thought of, then?" "That depends upon whom you ask. Men do not like him much, women generally like him too much. There's been more than one scandal involving an angry husband, an errant wife. Will's not trustworthy, Joanna. Local legend has it that he once sold the same piece of land to three different buyers, and whilst I cannot vouch for the truth of that, I'd not put it past him. He cuts with a sharp blade, does our Will, leaves himself no margin for error." The dancing had begun; a circle was forming for the carole, and Elen and John the Scot were soon coaxed into the center. They danced well together, won themselves a round of applause when the figure was completed. Elen then shook her head and John led her back toward the sidelines. He had a naturally ruddy complexion, even more flushed now from the dance, and the same unruly, sandy hair as his cousin the Scots King, but he did have an engaging grin, which he flashed as he caught Joanna's eye. Elen, however, had no smiles at all to offer. Although she was standing beside John, her hand in his, she seemed set upon acting as" their proximity were mere coincidence. She was watching the other dancers, looking so aloof that Joanna wanted to take her aside, to shake some sense into her. Remembering how she'd labored to hide her own reluctance from Llewelyn, it seemed to her that Elen was behaving ve*> badly, and she started toward them, intent upon having a brief word 1 547 private with her daughter. For better or worse, Elen was now John's wife, and she must be made to see how important it was that she make an effort to please him. So engrossed was Joanna in her concern that she did not notice the jjian until he moved into her path, so suddenly they almost collided. She stepped back, looking up at a stranger, a very attractive stranger, with bright blond hair and beard, clear grey eyes, an unsmiling, sharply sculptured mouth. The fourteen-year-old boy Joanna had remembered was utterly gone. But she still recognized him and smiled, said, not altogether truthfully, "I am glad to see you again, Will." "Are you, Madame? Are you indeed?" he drawled, and while the words themselves were innocuous, he invested them with so much hostility that the blood surged up into her face. Her reaction was instinctive, purely defensive. "Of course I am, Will," she heard herself say archly. "We'll talk later, I hope?" She managed another smile, polite but dismissive, and moved away before he could respond. Joanna was more shaken by the encounter than she should have been; dimly she realized that. She did not doubt that Will was voicing what all the de Braoses thought; he just happened to be the only one who did not need her husband's
favor, who could afford to be honest. So why, then, did it hurt so? She sought without success to catch Elen alone, had no more luck in tracking down Llewelyn. She danced several times, but could find no pleasure in it, for by then she was aware again of Will. He made no approach, but he never took his eyes from hera cool, challenging stare that she could neither ignore nor acknowledge. She endured it as long as she could, and then her anger broke through. Draining her wine cup, she turned, walked directly toward Will. "I think," she said, "that it is time we talked." She'd rarely seen eyes so compelling, or so cold. "What do we have to say?" "If you do not want to talk to me, why are you staring at me? Why are you following me about the hall?" "Was I?" "You know damned well you were!" She heard her own voice, sharp-edged and shrill, and took several quick breaths. "I do not want to quarrel with you. Surely we can talk without anger. You once told me hat you did not believe in blood guilt for women, remember?" Something flickered in those grey eyes, too elusive for analysis. es'' he said, "I do remember. But your father taught me otherwise." Joanna waited until she was sure she could trust her voice. "It eifls I was mistaken. I have nothing to say to you after all."
548 THE porch of the great hall connected directly to the chapel in Caesar's Tower; the chamber above it had been set aside for Joanna's little sister But Nell had shown herself to be as strong-willed as the grandmother after whom she'd been named, resisting bedtime until she was half asleep on her feet. Only then had she yielded, allowing Joanna and her nurse to put her to bed. Joanna lingered longer than necessary, sitting on the bed and stroking Nell's hair, sunlit ringlets that curled around her fingers like finely spun silk. There had been no need for her to accompany Nell, just as there was no need for her to remain. But she was in no hurry to return to the hall. As miserable as her own wedding had been, her daughter's was proving to be no less an ordeal. She could delay only so long, though, for it was almost time for the bedding revels. Soon she would have to help put Elen to bed, as she'd just done with Nell. But unlike Nell, Elen would not be sleeping alone. She swallowed the last of her wine, moved reluctantly toward the door. The spiral stairway was not lit; the cresset light had burned out, and she'd forgotten her candle. She'd had too much to drink, was feeling lightheaded and had to stop repeatedly, groping her way blindly in the darkness, a few steps at a time. She had no warning, nothing to alert her that she was no longer alone. She simply turned a bend in the stairwell and there he was, looming over her, barring her way. She recoiled against the wall, a scream starting in her throat, and he swiftly put his hand over her mouth. "Jesii, but your nerves are on the raw," he muttered, and Joanna sighed with relief, recognizing his voice. "You startled me, Will!" she said indignantly. "How did I know who it was? What are you doing here? Did you follow me?" "Would you believe me if I said I was looking for a privy chamber?" "No, I would not." Joanna was becoming aware now of the untoward aspects of this encounter, becoming acutely aware of Will. She was standing on the step above him, but he was still taller than she, and so close that she could smell the sugared wine on his breath. "I think you'd best let me pass," she said, her voice suddenly husky, and he laughed. "You wanted to talk, did you not? Well, here I am." "You're drunk, Will. Let me by." "Suppose . . . suppose I do not want to do that," he murmured, and when Joanna pushed against him, he did not move. "What do you want from me?" she whispered, feeling behind he for the wall, seeking to orient herself in this eerie black well. "I do not know." He, too, was whispering now, his breath n against her cheek. And then his hand was on her throat, and his mou
549 On hers. She'd been expecting violence, but he was surprisingly gentle with her, and the kiss was unhurried, almost tender. It was that which held her immobile for several seconds, which kept her from struggling at first. But the spell did not last. With a gasp, she tore her mouth from his, shoved against his chest. Again he surprised her; when she pulled free, he let her go. She stumbled, nearly lost her balance on the stairs. Her head was spinning; she could not seem to catch her breath. "Have you lost your wits? Jesus God, my husband would kill you if he knew!" "Are you going to tell him?" To her fury, he did not sound particularly impressed. But as much as she wanted to tell him yes, she was going to Llewelyn, common sense prevailed. "No," she said, as coldly as she could. "No, I'd not do that to Elen, would not stain her wedding day with blood." Her words sounded hollow to her, even a little pompous. Will apparently thought so, too, for he laughed. He was above her now; the way below was clear, and she turned away, started down the stairs.
He stopped laughing, for the first time called her by her name. She ignored him, lifted her skirts and plunged around the final bend in the stairwell, into the light. He caught up with her at the bottom of the stairs, reached for her arm, saying, "Joanna, wait." She jerked away. "Do not touch me," she spat. "Not ever again, do you understand?" Some of the guests had overflowed from the hall, several couples seeking privacy in the empty chapel. They turned toward the stairwell at sound of voices, and Will faded back into the shadows. Joanna stood there alone for a moment, leaning against the wall. And then she scrubbed the back of her hand vigorously across her mouth, stepped out into the torchlit chapel. Will watched from the stairwell as she reentered the hall. THE bedding revels were not as raucous as they might have been, due in large measure to Llewelyn's presence in the bedchamber. Even the most obstreperous of wedding guests tended to be somewhat circumspect, to curb their cruder jests in the hearing of the bride's father. But Joanna still found the experience exceedingly painful. The sight of her daughter naked in bed with an unwanted stranger tore at her heart. She no longer Cared at that moment about the cogent, convincing arguments that °uld be made in favor of this marriage, not when she looked at Elen's ace. Elen had lost her air of defiance; she clutched the sheet against her reasts, looking unbearably young to Joanna, utterly vulnerable. When
550 she leaned over the bed to kiss her daughter, Elen clung to her, for the first time since agreeing to the marriage. "It will be all right, darling," Joanna whispered, but there was nothing more she could do. She and Llewelyn had made this bed, and now it was for Elen to lie in it. The wedding party trooped back toward the great hall under a cloudless, star-studded sky. Traces of the first snowfall still lay unmelted upon the bailey ground, and some of the younger men began to pelt one another with snowballs, to chase the women, who fled into the hall, shrieking with laughter. Joanna was enveloped in a fur-lined mantle of Lincoln wool, but she could not stop shivering, not even after reaching the huge center hearth. She was soon joined by others, found herself in the midst of a boisterous, bawdy argument as to who felt the greater lust, men or women. Joanna was in no mood for ribald jests, for jokes about bitches in heat and rutting stags, and she turned away, pushed toward the edge of the crowd, only to stop abruptly at sight of Will. She spun about, but not in time; she knew he'd seen her blush. She brought her hand up to her cheek, felt the heat burning her face and throat. She could still taste Will's kiss. It was a disconcertingly intense memory, even though she was sure she knew whyshe had never been kissed before by any man but Llewelyn. Damn you, Gwilym Ddu, she thought, fighting the urge to cry the words aloud. Damn your arrogance and your audacity and your mocking grey eyes, damn you, damn you! "There you are, Joanna." Llewelyn was smiling at her. "What are you doing so far from the hearth?" Catching her hand, he shoved his way through the crowd, into the coveted inner circle. There was some grumbling, which stilled as men recognized him, grudgingly gave way. Joanna followed reluctantly in his wake. She'd seen very little of him all night. Where had he been when she truly needed him? If he'd been more attentive, Will would not have dared to follow her into the stairwell. Llewelyn knew how she felt about the de Braoses. Why in God's name could he not have found other husbands for his daughters? Why could he not have put her needs first, just once? The sexual argument was still going strong. Hubert de Burgh had claimed center stage, was insisting that it was not open to dispute/ women were more lustful because they were imperfect. As the imperrec always yearned for union with the perfect, it only stood to reason tna woman's desire was greater. Undaunted when the women in the au ence hissed good-naturedly, he said complacently, "You cannot de y what is set down in Scriptures. 'All wickedness is but little to the wi edness of a woman,' Ecclesiasticus. The noted theologian Tertullia11 P
551 ,t even plainer Woman, he said, is the gate of the Devil, the first deserter of Divine Law, responsible for the loss of Eden " Joanna had never liked de Burgh But never had he seemed so odious to her as he did now In truth, he looked like a sleek, well-fed cat, insufferably well-pleased with himself The braggart And who in the vorld was Tertulhan7 "But the final word ought to go to the great Aristotle He proved conclusively through his writings that the female state is one of deformity, albeit a common one When the man's seed is perfect, it produces a male child, when flawed or imperfect, a female You might even say," he quipped, "that the female is merely a misbegotten male1" Joanna had not meant to speak out But with that, the same imp that had once beguiled her into defying Maude de Braose again took possession of her tongue "I do hope, my lord, that you will at least grant us poor 'misbegotten males' one small virtue You will admit that without women, your Aristotle and Tertulhan would never have been born7" There was laughter, and some of the women cheered, spirited debates were always a favored form of entertainment Hubert de Burgh was smiling, quite unperturbed "Indeed I will, Madame But even as a breeder, woman is of secondary importance in the divine order All know that the child belongs more to the man than to the woman, since the fetus forms from the male's seed You need only think of a tree sending forth roots The father is like the tree, the mother like the earth that nurtures it Whilst it cannot exist without the two, it clearly belongs more to the tree from whence it sprang than to the earth where it was planted " It may have been the smugness of his smile It may have been the memory of a bloody birthing chamber, those endless hours of agony and fear It may only have been the proverbial last straw in a day of ernotional turmoil Suddenly Joanna was trembling, as angry as she'd ever been in her life But Llewelyn had been alerted by her first outburst, had known at once that this was no game Now he saw how her eyes narrowed, saw the pupils contract, like the eyes of a cat about to Pounce, John's eyes in a blazing Angevin rage, and he said swiftly, with Us* enough sardonic inflection to be insulting, "You surprise me, my °rd de Burgh Surely you have not forgotten the Lady Mary, mother of r Saviour7 If Our Lord Jesus was not ashamed to be born of woman, V should you be7" De Burgh's smile froze "I never said I was1" Mayhap you should learn to choose your words with greater care,
552 then," the Earl of Chester observed coolly, "for I, too, took that as your meaning." The crowd had fallen silent. Even the most politically naive among them were aware that the conversation was heading for deep waters, pushed by currents that had nothing whatsoever to do with the Virgin Mary or the failings of women. De Burgh had reddened, but he was too well manneredand too intelligentto provoke an open row while a guest under Chester's roof. He could wait. "It grows late," he said tersely. He heard someone in the crowd, one of the Earl's partisans safely cloaked in anonymity, mutter, "Later than you think," and there was some scattered laughter. It was Joanna's Uncle Will who acted to defuse the tension, to avert a confrontation. Will was not as friendly with Chester as he'd once been, and he had yet to forgive Llewelyn for that scene in Worcester Abbey. But Joanna was still his niece, and for her sake he raised his wine cup high, saying loudly, "It is indeed late, and for certes we want this evening to conclude upon a cordial note. Let's drink, then, to the happiness of the bride and groom. To John the Scot and the Lady Helen!" The ploy worked; others took it up, until John and Elen's names rang from the rafters. People began to make ready to depart, those who were not bedding down in the castle. Llewelyn and Chester were talking together; Joanna heard them laugh. So, too, did Hubert de Burgh. "Mama, that was wonderful, the best part of the whole wedding!" Davydd was grinning. "I was so proud of you." "You should not have been, Davydd. If not for your father, I'd have caused a scene that they'd have been talking about for the next twenty years." "Really? I wish you had! Hubert de Burgh went red as a radish; it was so hard not to laugh. Why do he and my lord Chester hate each other so much?" "The usual cause, Davyddpower. Chester was on crusade when the old Earl of Pembroke died, and when he returned, it was to find that de Burgh was now clinging closer to Henry than a limpet. Chester feels that he was shunted aside, that de Burgh usurped his rightful place as Henry's chief counselor. And because de Burgh feels threatened by Chester,
he is beginning to side with Llewelyn's foe, the Earl of Pe"1" broke. Does any of this make sense to you?" Davydd nodded. "Oh, yes, Mama. You have to counter your oppO" nent's moves, try to guess what he'll do ere he does it. Just like chess. Llewelyn was coming toward them now, and Joanna moved meet him. "Ought I to thank you?" she murmured, and he shook head.
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