Here Be Dragons - 1

by Sharon Kay Penman

  639 the words began to come She did not try to make Llewelyn under- d her infidelity, she knew that was hopeless She gave him, instead, 5 f rtual account of the chronology of her brief liaison, swore that it was a jong before Will's foolhardy intrusion into her bedchamber She Id him she loved him, would always love him, and she begged him to what he could for Davydd, and to find the right words when telling Flen And then she sent Glynis in search of Bran "Will you take this letter back to Aber, to Lord Llewelyn7" Seeing him about to refuse, Joanna hastily pulled a ring from her finger "I would like you to accept this garnet ring as a token of my gratitude " He eyed the ring with longing, but still he hesitated, and Joanna realized that he feared to face Llewelyn, to be the bearer of an unfaithful wife's plea "Take the letter to Lord Davydd Tell him I ask that he give it to his father " He reached for the ring, and then the letter, and after that, Joanna could do nothing but wait He was back sooner than she expected, shortly after dusk At sight of the letter she felt a sudden throb of hope, for she'd not thought Llewelyn would answer her What mattered was that he would read her letter, learn the truth But as she turned it over, she saw her own seal, unbroken, intact Bran averted his eyes, made uncomfortable by what he saw now in her face "As you see, Lord Llewelyn would not open it, and Lord Davydd said he said it will avail you naught to write again He said his lord father will not read your letters " JOANNA was standing at the window, gazing up at a spring sky as brightly blue as the Irish Sea, clouds drifted by like floating islands, trailmg fleece in their wake The meadows would be ablaze in gorse, a brilliant yellow flower she'd picked by the armful in springs gone by How strange that something so simple as a walk on the beach could suddenly mean so much "Glynis, is this a Thursday or a Friday7 When I awoke this morn, I c°uld be sure neither of the day nor the date " "This is a Friday, Madame, the third of May " May third," Joanna echoed, and then, "eighteen days " She Tied abruptly from the window A week from the morrow would be anniversary of her wedding Twenty-four years since that fourteen- ^ar-old girl had shyly clasped Llewelyn's hand upon the steps of St rt)urgh's abbey church, twenty-four years She almost spoke her th S a^oud to Glynis, caught herself just in time She was learning the ° ^le^ to memones was to embrace pain beyond endurance, was SUfest route to madness

  640 There was a knock upon the bedchamber door. Bran opened the door but did not enter; instead he stepped aside, allowed Ednyved to stride into the room. Ednyved was brutally blunt. "I've come to tell you that Will de Braose was hanged yesterday at Aber." He was watching Joanna intently, but whatever reaction he might have expected, it was not this; she merely looked at him, showing no emotion at all, and he said curtly, "You did hear me?" "Yes." He seemed to be waiting, and Joanna wondered what he wanted her to say. Was she supposed to show surprise? She'd known from the moment Llewelyn walked into her bedchamber that Will was a dead man. Was she supposed to grieve for Will? Mayhap one day she might, that he should have died at four and thirty, died so needlessly. But she would have to forgive him first, and she could find no forgiveness in her heart. Ednyved moved farther into the chamber. "I think he did not truly believe it, up to the last expected Llewelyn to relent. But when he realized there was to be no reprieve, he died well, with courage." "Yes," Joanna said again. Will had never lacked for courage. If only he had, he'd still be alive, and she'd be at Aber with her husband and son. She swallowed, said softly, "Ednyved . . . tell me. How is Llewelyn?" "Bleeding." His answer was so graphic, so unexpectedly expressive that Joanna shuddered. Turning her back upon Ednyved, she moved blindly toward the window. He followed, grasping her shoulders and compelling her to face him. "What would you have me do, sugar the truth for you? Nay, no tears. The time for tears is past. Ere I go, I want you to tell me why. You weep for Llewelyn and not for de Braose. You did not love him?" He was hurting her, his fingers digging into her flesh, but she neither protested nor pulled away. She shook her head and he released her, stepped back, staring at her in baffled bitterness. "That only makes your betrayal all the more unforgivable. Sweet Jesus, woman, why? I've watched as you struggled and schemed and fought to secure the succession for Davydd, only then to play into Grutfydd's hands like this! And for what? A tumble in bed with a swaggering cock, a rakehell not worthy of Llewelyn's spit!" "What . . . what do you mean that I've played into Gruffy^8 hands? Whilst I daresay he is taking great satisfaction in my fall "* shame is mine, not Davydd's." "You think not? When you've given Gruffydd's supporters

  I 641 weapon they'd never dreamed within their grasp, an opportunity to cast doubts upon Davydd's paternity7" Joanna gasped "But but that is the most outrageous of lies' And utterly impossible Will was just a lad when Davydd was born, could not possibly" "You truly do not see, do you7 A woman's honor is verily like her maidenhead, in that once it is gone, it cannot be regained Now that you've been taken in adultery with one man, there will be those who'll think de Braose was not the first, that there must have been others " "My God " No more than a whisper "My God, what have I done7" "Madame Madame, sit down " Glynis was beside her, putting a protective arm around her shoulders "Just sit there and I'll fetch some wine " A cup was hastily thrust into Joanna's hand, the stem felt cool to her fingers, wet and sticky with wine She drank deeply, without tasting, holding the cup with both hands "Llewelyn Llewelyn does not believe this7 Tell me he does not, Ednyved," she pleaded "Tell me he knows Davydd is his1" "No he does not believe it I am sure of that " Answering her unspoken question then, he added, "Nor do I Nor would most people, I'd wager Given your extreme youth at the time of Davydd's birth, I think it unlikely that such a suspicion would gam widespread belief " His voice hardened "But do not deceive yourself There will be some who'll give it credence, if only because they want to believe it Davydd's enemiesand he does have themwill seek to use it against him, as they'd use any weapon at hand " "And I I gave it to them," Joanna said, sounding so dazed, so devastated that Ednyved felt a flicker of unwelcome pity But he did not contradict her "Well, I've had my say," he said, thinking Llewelyn was wise in refusing to see her, to spare himself yet more pain For as easy as it was to hate what she had done, it was not as easy to hate her, not as easy as it should have been "Ednyved, wait There is something you must know I did allow myself to enter into an intrigue with Will de Braose, in a moment of Weakness, of madness if you will, during that time Llewelyn and I were es'ranged, whilst he was waging war in Cen But I ended the affair Almost ere it began I did not ask Will to my chamber that night, and ft°thing happened between us, nothing " When he did not reply, she fumbled for her crucifix chain "You do

  642 I 643 not believe me? I'll swear it, then, swear it upon the lives of my childre upon their very" "That is not necessary. I think I do believe you, if only because y0l] version makes more sense. I've known men like de Braose; they scom the merlin hawk nesting free in the heather, must have the one unde guard in another man's mews. But women rarely share that lust for risk taking, and I could not see you bringing a lover into Llewelyn's bed, not unless you were love-blinded ... or bewitched." "Will you tell Llewelyn, then? Will you tell Davydd?" "I will tell Davydd. I cannot tell Llewelyn." "But why? I am not asking this for my sake; I know he cannot forgive me. But if he knew the truth, his grieving might not be so great Can you not see that?" "It is you who do not see, Joanna. Llewelyn is not about to believe anything you say, not now. Yours was the one betrayal he never expected. I truly think he'd have killed any man who dared come to him with suspicions, would never have believed it of you. And now ... now he will not allow your name to be spoken in his hearing. Only once has he mentioned you, saying you were dead to him . . . and the measure of his bitterness is the measure of the love he once bore you." 13 DOLWYDDELAN, NORTH WALES May 1230 LEAVING Aber soon after Will de Braose's hanging, Llewelyn began a wide circuit of his domains, maintaining a hign. visible presence to discourage speculation and set gossip at rest. He w at Dinbych Castle by mid-May, where he was overtaken by a Cister Abbot who'd often served as an emissary of the crown; the Abbot vbearing letters from the E
nglish King and his Chancellor, and Llewe. agreed to meet with the Chancellor at Shrewsbury in June. From ^ bych, Llewelyn moved south into Powys, and then on to the Ciste kt,ey of Strata Florida. He did not linger, however, and the last days of -jay found him back in Gwynedd, in the heartland of his realm, the mountain citadel he most loved, his castle at Dolwyddelan. He'd been traveling so rapidly, spending so many hours in the sadie that he'd outdistanced most couriers, and the table in his bedchamber was strewn with letters that had only recently caught up with jjm. He was sorting through them, dictating responses to a scribe, as pavydd entered the chamber. "Papa ..." Davydd was unsure how to identify Richard, but after a nioment's reflection, he realized it was immaterial; announcing him as Richard Fitz Roy would not make him any the less Joanna's brother. "Papa, my Uncle Richard has just ridden in. Are you willing to see him?" Llewelyn was not, but he was even less willing to admit it, so he nodded. The exchange of greetings was awkward for them all. Richard looked fatigued, and not a little embarrassed. "It is good of you to make me welcome." "You are Davydd's uncle," Llewelyn said dispassionately, but Richard was not deceived, saw Llewelyn's courtesy for what it was, an icy exercise in self-control. Richard had given much thought to what he would say to Llewelyn, but he realized that was time misspent. To offer this man sympathy would be to offer a mortal insult. Although he'd never lacked for courage, he did not find it easy now to make mention of his sister's name. "Davydd tells me that Joanna is at Llanfaes. Have I your permission to see her?" "Yes," Llewelyn said, still in those dangerously soft tones, and Richard thanked him, thinking all the while that Will de Braose must have been one of God's great fools . . . second only to his sister. "I'll see that my uncle and his men are fed and bedded down in the great hall," Davydd offered, and when Llewelyn nodded, he ushered Richard toward the

  door. But within moments he was back, glancing 'lrst at the stacked parchments and then at Llewelyn's scribe. "It grows late, Papa, and Celyn looks tired. Can the letters not wait M the morrow?" "Your concern for Celyn's well-being is commendable," Llewelyn ^'d dryly, but then he smiled at his son. "Very well, lad. That will be a11' Celyn." 'Shall I summon your squires, Papa?" Llewelyn resisted the temptation to ask if Davydd wanted to keep §u by his bedside till he slept. "No, Davydd, that's not necessary. Go * to the hall now, make sure that our guests are looked after."

  644 Gathering up the correspondence, the scribe made a discreet departure; those who served Llewelyn this spring had, of necessity, learned to be as prescient as soothsayers, as unobtrusive as shadows. Davydd paused in the doorway. "God grant you a restful night, Papa," he said and Llewelyn thought it might be for the best, after all, that Richard had come to his court. Mayhap Richard might be able to do what he could not, talk to the lad about Joanna. That Davydd had such a need, he well knew. A man might disavow a wanton, cheating wife. But a son could not be expected to disavow his mother. Reaching for a flagon, Llewelyn poured himself a cup of malmsey. He drank slowly, rationing himself, for he was not such a fool as to think he could drown his dreams in wine. Picking up the cup, he crossed to the bed, lay down upon it fully clothed. The dreams had a numbing sameness, differing only in detail. Most often the dream did but reflect reality; he would walk into his bedchamber, unsuspecting, and find his wife with her young lover. More than once, though/ the dream took an even uglier turn, and he would enter the chamber while they were making love, naked bodies entwined together in his bed, so lost in their lust they did not perceive their danger until it was too late, until he had sword in hand. Sometimes he heeded Ednyved, took a more calculating, cold-blooded vengeance; sometimes Will died at once, there in the bedchamber. But not Joanna, for even in his dreams he could never bring himself to thrust the sword into her breast. As harrowing as these dreams were, they were not as rending as the others, the dreams of days gone by, those that recreated his world before his discovery of Joanna's infidelity. Like most dreams, they were an incongruous blend of the fanciful and the commonplace, dreams in which a man might get saddle sores from riding a unicorn. But in them all, Joanna was the one constant. Taking a bath, she'd splash him with soapy water, giggling like a little girl. Or she'd look up at him over a Welsh grammar lesson, grimace and vow she'd master his tongue if it took her a lifetime. She was there to welcome him home from war, and there beside him in the night, and the seductive lure of memory was such that he would awaken in drowsy arousal, reaching for her. And then he would remember. Llewelyn took a deep swallow of malmsey. Upon his first night a Dolwyddelan, he'd been crossing the bailey, had come upon some of his soldiers squatting by the door of the great hall, passing a flask back an forth as they discussed his wife's betrayal, her lover's death. They ten* pered their abuse of Will de Braose with a grudging acknowledgment o his gallows courage, but they spared Joanna nothing, damned her language as coarse as it was colorful. When Llewelyn stepped out or darkness, they scrambled to their feet, staring at him in stricken silen .1 645 AH save one youngster, drunker than the res*. not understand your forbearance, my lord. Yo»V blurfed out, ""I QN must! So why have you not punished her as sK mUSt hate her now' 3"^° Aooalled. his mnrp enhm- j__ *>e deserves?" v>u Appalled, his more sober comrades m ^deserves?" sought to turn aside Llewelyn's anger with a lT HaSte to ir>terve?n* cuse. Llewelyn looked at the boy, younger eve * °f aPology and e^ '*«, - ^>(- m^i^ ,-ust;. Ljcwciyii iuuK.eu at me ooy, younger eve>~ "h-^gv ana e^ ' his muddled way to empathize with his lord's Davydd, trying i^~ be to make a scapegoat of this imprudent yout^3"1' H°W easy ft wo-uK." able and unjust. "I do not suffer fools gladly " U EaSy ^ Understa3i«^f ily for you, lad, I have more patience with d'ru S3id CUrtIy' "but ll*cl%" The soldiers did not press their luck; they scatt *lkards' Go sleeP it o^f.V" But the boy's question stayed with Hewel?^' Why had he not punished Joanna as she deserv^" m the days to corbie to

  Llanfaes? Why had he made hers such a ca ? Why had he sent ^eV He'd done it for Davydd's sake. That was the o£nfortable confinememt^ answer. But was it the only answer? "vious answer, the e*syx His last memory of Joanna had yet to fade- u eyes to bring it into sudden, sharp focus, to se had °nly to dose 1~lis the rumpled sheets, even the sweat trickling dcT ^ tan&Ied dar^ hair, hollow between her breasts. That woman he cc^" ^ thr°at/ into tple woman who'd taken a Norman lover, made hi Uld hate/ and did' fi^e frayed his trust, jeopardized Davydd's successi * Iau8hin8stock, b«soldiers had jeered; who should be surprised^"' B1°°d W'U teU' thte showed herself to be a shameless wanton? Harlo that J°hn'S daughter names. The woman who'd taken Will into his bej' Whore' Hars*, ugly But what of the seventeen-year-old girl wn deserved them all. birth to Davydd? Or the woman who'd stood in ^ alm°St d'ed 8ivin^ with him to let her intercede with John? What chamber> pleading wrtsied to him that day at Aberconwy, salvaging °f ** W°man who'cd kther for his sake? Did she, too, deserve to be call P"de' defyinS he:r Llewelyn drained the last of the wine thre Sl"t? room, watched it shatter against the wall It'was W the CUP acr°ss the ne at once regretted. Come morning, the servant^ 3Ct °f imPulse< one ^ clay shards upon the floor; they would mak^ W°Uld find the bro' ean up the wreckage with impassive faces And Tu"0 comment- would ^d- -miathey would not under- one ^°0nedid-Mor§an had come the closest to co . A 'attempt at consolation, he'd counseled endur P e"dlng; in his .' Llewelyn, time to grieve. Try to remember ^ "Give yourself evenf T" Tan8wystl and h°w you mourned uthat Pam doe« pass. entually heal... and so will this " *er" But th* hurt did ^ unf ?!!? M°rgan C°uld understand that it was .U1 unfaithful wife; few others did. But he was w?°SSlble to Srieve for 0 wrong to equate Tang-

  646 wystl's death with Joanna's betrayal. This was a different sort of loss, and in its own way, more painful, for he'd lost more than Joanna, he'd lost their life together, too. In destroying their future, Joanna had also poisoned their past. Closing his eyes, Llewelyn lay back against the pillow. But no man could ever fully master memory. The tides ran higher at night, and he found himself engulfed without warning, carried back in time to an October afternoon, to the cloistered silence of the Whit
e Ladies Priory. Joanna was standing again before him, disheveled, breathless, a russet leaf clinging to her hair, turning up to him a face streaked with tears. Llewelyn gave a sudden, bitter laugh, for what greater irony could there be than this, that the one person able to understand exactly how he now felt should be Joanna, Joanna who'd cried out in such despair, "If he'd died, I'd still have had memories. But now even my memories are false. They do not comfort, they only torment. . ." "RICHARD!" Joanna's book thudded to the floor; in three strides she was across the room, in her brother's arms. "How glad I am to see you, how very glad!" He did not return her embrace, merely patted her awkwardly on the shoulder, but he'd always been sparing with physical demonstrations of affection, and she reached up, kissed him on the cheek before stepping back to smile at him. "I'm not sure what I expected, Joanna. But not this," he said, glancing about the bedchamber. "One might think you were still Princess of Gwynedd." Joanna's smile vanished; his voice was very cold. "Would you rather have found me in a dungeon at Cricieth, Richard?" "Of course not," he said impatiently. "But I cannot help marveling at Llewelyn's leniency." "You've seen him, talked to him? Tell me how he is, Richard. How does he?" "How do you think he does? The man loved you, Joanna." "I know," she whispered. "I know . . ." "How could you do it? How could you shame yourself, shame your family like this? At first I thought it had to be some sort of macabre hoax! And if I could not believe it, I would not even attempt to imagine wha Llewelyn" I've "Richard, enough! I do not need you to tell me of the pam caused those I love. I was there, I saw, and those are memories I''" to live with for the rest of my life. I do not deny that I have committe grievous sin, and I'll willingly answer for it to my husband, to my