Here Be Dragons - 1

by Sharon Kay Penman

  98 "The latter," John admitted; he, too, was laughing now. "Philip could find conspiracy in a convent of Cistercian nuns, and his favored pastime is jumping to conclusions. Need I tell you what dire plots he'll read into my visit to Arthur's court? And whilst Philip is convincing himself that Arthur and I must be up to no good, Arthur's advisers are unable to sleep for worrying over what I've got in mind. It's not often I've been able to sow so much discord with so little effort!" "I cannot blame you for wanting to give Philip some grief. My husband told me about the good turn he tried to do you. There were more than a few here in Rennes who were right disappointed that Philip's ploy came to naught." "That I do not doubt, sweetheart. It's lucky, in truth, that Richard and I have such pure and perfect trust between us ... is it not?" John began to kiss her again. "I hear your husband is in Nantes; how long will he be gone?" "A fortnight, at least. How long can you stay?" "Till the week's end. Richard's been besieging some godforsaken castle near Limoges; one of his vassals found a Roman treasure on his lands and was then idiotic enough to refuse when Richard claimed it all as his liege lord. Richard expects to need just a week to wreak utter havoc upon the poor fool's lands, told me to meet him and our lady mother at Fontevrault Abbey for Easter. But ere I do, I want to pass some time in Rouen; I've a lass there most eager for the sight of me." "Indeed?" Feigning anger, she dug her nails into the back of his hand. "If you think I came out into the cold to listen to you boast about your other bedmates . . ." "She's my daughter, darling. I do not have her with me as often as I ought, but I do try. With my sons, it is different. Save for Richard, they're old enough to fend for themselves. And, bastard or no, many would envy Richard. He's highborn, after all; his mother is a Warenne But Joanna is just seven, has no one but me. And now that I've satisfied you, when can you do the same for me? Can you come to me tonight?" "John, it's so risky ..." But after he devoted some moments to increasingly intimate persuasion, she sighed again, murmured, "Yes ... yes, I will. But we dare not tarry here any longer; we might be seen." She pulled away, set about rearranging her clothing, and then turned back, gave him one last kiss, biting his lip and taking his breath. John waited, giving her time to depart unseen. But as he emerged onto the garden path, a shrouded figure detached itself from the shadows, barred his way. The man was garbed all in black, his face hidden by a deep cowled hood. He was no apparition to encounter on a moonless nighta stark, spectral embodiment of the most irrational and elemental of mortal fearsand John recoiled violently.

  99 "My l°rd'l must talk with you// John took a second look, recognized the habit and mantle of a Bene- rine monk, and swore, fluently and with considerable feeling. The monk listened in stolid silence, and when John had exhausted ry abusive possibility in an uncommonly extensive vocabulary, he 6 neated stubbornly, "We must talk, my lord." But as the monk moved closer, John happened to glance down, saw the dusty boots protruding from the hem of the monk's habit. For a moment he froze, and then jerked his sword free of its scabbard. "Indeed, we'll talk. We'll begin by you telling me who you are, in whose pay, and just why you went to so much trouble to find me alone like this. And Christ save you if I do not like your answers." The man burst out laughing. "And I thought I made a truly admirable monk! What gave me away?" He reached up, pulled back his hood, and John swore again. "De Braose!" Slowly he lowered his sword. Suspicions were coming too fast for him to take them all in. "I thought you were at Chalus with my brother Richard." "I was." De Braose was fumbling at his belt. "Your mother the Queen bade me give you this, so you'd not doubt I came at her behest." John stared down at the ring de Braose had pressed into his hand; it was indeed his mother's. Sheathing his sword, he followed de Braose off the path. "My lord, you do not know how very lucky you are. Word has not gotten out yet. If it had, you'd not live to see the morrow." John caught his breath. "Do you mean what I think you do?" William de Braose nodded. "I do ... my liege." "Richard . . . he's dead?" De Braose nodded again. "He was near death when your lady mother commanded me to get to you, to warn you away from Rennes ere Arthur learns the crown is up for the taking. Too many of his men know my face, hence this monk's cowl. I've men and horses waiting; they are at your disposal, my lord." "I still cannot believe it. That it would happen like this, so sudden . . ." "You're not alone in your disbelief, my lord. Your brother was so sure of victory that he had not even bothered to arm himself. He'd ridden out to inspect the siege's progress with only a shield, took an arrow m his left shoulder. It was full dusk, and his men did not see him hit. He made no sound, turned and rode back to his tent, had his surgeon cut it out. He took the castle, ordered every living soul in it hangedservants, women, children, allsparing only the man who shot him, for ^od knows what fate. But the wound festered. When he realized it was

  200 like to be mortal, he pardoned his killer and sent for your mother tta Queen." " 'Near death/ you said. Are you sure he could not recover?" De Braose's mouth twitched in a grim smile. "My lord, I coul

  101 Hugh of Avalon, Bishop of Lincoln, had followed John into the sters, reached them just in time to hear this exchange His eyes soft- j and he watched with approval as John gently disengaged himself f m his sister-in-law's tearful embrace But no sooner were they alone the cloister walkway than John shook his head, said wryly, "Damn me if those tears were not genuine And yet she could count herself lucky that Richard even remembered her name from one day to the next1 That girlls a born martyr if ever there was one But, to be fair, there's something to be said for Richard, too All that Madonnahke purity and goodness would be enough to put any man off, who wants to bed a saint7" The Bishop jerked his head up, gave John a look of poorly concealed dislike "Such talk is most unseemly, my lord," he said, so stiffly that John laughed He'd been almost continuously in the aged churchman's company on the ride from Chinon, and he was wearying of the Bishop's homilies on virtue, his exhortations about sin and salvation, it was all too plain that he thought John's soul to be in mortal peril, thought John to be the most ungodly of a family never noted for its piety, and John, who'd begun by good-naturedly seeking to placate, was now deliberately doing all he could to confirm the priest's worst fears "You seem to be laboring under a misconception, my lord Bishop," he said cheerfully "I mean to be crowned, not canonized " But by then they were entering the abbey church, and he sobered abruptly, did not at once move into the sunlit stillness of the nave ELEANOR stood before the marble tombs of her husband and son, John's father and brother Her face was tearless, all but bloodless, her grieving was painful to look upon, but intensely private, had in it a fierce pride that conceded little, asked for even less "Mother " John stopped before her, hesitated, and kissed her on the cheek He could discern the faintest stiffening of her body at his touch, an almost imperceptible pulling away, so slight he might have imagined it Releasing her at once, he stepped back For a long moment they looked at one another, and then he said, "I am sorry I could not get here in time for the funeral " The others had tactfully withdrawn, giving them some degree of privacy, and he could risk asking, very low, "Did Richard truly name me'" "Yes he did " Eleanor glanced down at Richard's tomb, back to her surviving son's face "But that alone will not make you King," she said tonelessly "You're likely to have to fight for the crown, John Whilst you'll have no trouble winning acceptance in England and Nor-

  102 mandy, the barons of Brittany, Maine, and Touraine will hold fast f0r Arthur. Already his partisans are moving on his behalf. We had vvor

  9 POWYS, WALES April ngg N, I.NEVER having been in Wales, Aubrey de Mara looked about with interest when Thomas Corbet informed him that they'd just crossed from Cheshire into Powys. "I hear Wales is a wild, beautiful country, deeply wooded and right mountainous." But Thomas just grunted, and Aubrey cast a sideways glance at the other man, a big-boned, burly youth in his early twenties. He had no liking for Thomas Corbet, would not of his own accord have chosen Thomas as a traveling companion. But in his passage through Shropshire, he'd twice enjoyed the hospitality of the Corbet family, first with Thomas's uncle, Walte
r Corbet, Prior of Ratlinghope Priory, and then with his father, Robert Corbet, at the latter's castle of Caus, and when Thomas decided he would accompany Aubrey into Cheshire, Aubrey could think of no graceful way to escape Corbet's company. He'd hoped Thomas would turn back once they reached Hawarden, but he showed no signs of homesickness, spent a month as the guest of Aubrey's cousin, Ralph de Montalt, and when Aubrey announced his intention to move on to the Montalt castle of Mold, Thomas nonchalantly allowed that he, too, would stop over at Mold. "Your cousin at Mold, Lord Ralph's brother . . . you've never met him, either?" Thomas now asked idly, and Aubrey shook his head. "No. Their grandfather and my great-grandfather were brothers, but they settled here in England with William the Bastard whilst my family kept to Normandy." Turning in the saddle, he signaled to his squire, was handed a wineskin. "Are you sure, torn, we needed no escort from Hawarden?" "Damned sure. Mold is but six miles from Hawarden. Moreover, "e Welsh dare not trespass in these parts; they're not ones to risk their necks unless the odds are rigged in their favor. So you need not fret, I'll

  104 get you there safe enough." Thomas smiled, to signify that he was, Of course, joking, and Aubrey smiled sourly back; he did not doubt that Thomas could merely wish a man good morning and yet manage to g1Ve offense. "Tell me of the Welsh," he said. "Who rules in these parts? Was there not a Welsh Prince named David, who was wed to a half-sister of old King Henry?" "Yes, although the Welsh do pronounce that as Dav-ith. But Davydd was dethroned nigh on five years ago. The man who now wields the greatest power in Gwynedd is Llewelyn ab lorwerth." "Ah, yes, I recall hearing some talk about him. He sought to overthrow Davydd at a rather young age, did he not?" "At fourteen." Thomas was frowning. "When he was twenty-one, he defeated Davydd in a bloody battle at the mouth of the River Conwy, and since then has ruled Gwynedd with his cousins and allies; they hold the lands west of the Conwy and he all that lies east... for now. Sooner or later, he'll find a pretext to claim all of Gwynedd. Nor would Iwere I a prince of Powyssleep well nights with him for a neighbor; I'd sooner bed down with a snake." Aubrey grinned. "Still, though, few men gain so much so young. How old is he now?" "Twenty-six this February past," Thomas said flatly, and Aubrey's eyes shone with sudden curiosity. "You seem uncommonly well informed about the man, even to his very birthdate." "He's my cousin," Thomas said reluctantly, and then made haste to add, "by marriage," lest Aubrey think he had Welsh blood. "My uncle Hugh did wed with Llewelyn's mother." "I gather there is no love lost between you," Aubrey said wryly, and Thomas leaned over, spat into the road. "What of Llewelyn's uncle Davydd? Was he put to death?" "No," Thomas said grudgingly. "Llewelyn banished him into English exile." Aubrey was thoroughly enjoying the turn the conversation had taken. "Most magnanimous," he murmured, much amused when Thomas rose at once to the bait. "Do not fool yourself," he snapped. "He knows no more of mercy than he does of honor. If he spared Davydd's life, it was only so as not to make a martyr of the man; I'd wager my birthright on that." Aubrey laughed. "It sounds as if the poor man cannot win with you, torn. If he'd claimed Davydd's life, I daresay you'd have scorned him for a coldblooded murder; yet because he did not, you scorn him even more!"

  105 "If that is a jest, I see no humor in it " Thomas lapsed into a sullen ce and they rode without speaking for a time, Aubrey congratulat- 5 himself upon having discovered so effective a burr for Thomas's saddle "Where mean you to go after our stay at Mold7" Thomas asked at last and Aubrey, grimacing at "our stay," shrugged ' "I thought I might venture down into South Wales, the lands under Norman control Whilst serving with King Richard in Normandy a few ears past, I became friendly with a Marcher border lord, and I should like to renew that friendship, to spend some days with him at Aber- gavenny Castle " "AberJesu, man, are you talking of William de Braose7" "Yes, Lord of Brecknock and Upper Gwent Why does that so surprise you7" "Because de Braose's name stinks like a mackerel in the sun, I'd have thought the foul smell sure to've reached even as far as Normandy " "You speak of a man I call friend," Aubrey said stiffly "I'd advise you to choose your words with care " "You are an innocent, Aubrey, in truth," Thomas said impatiently "Ere you unsheath your sword, you'd best hear me out, hear how de Braose avenged the death of his uncle The man responsible was a Welsh lord, Seisyll ap whatever De Braose summoned this Seisyll and his followers to Abergavenny to hear a royal proclamation, set out for them a rich table, as much wine as they craved When the Welsh were off guard, de Braose's men fell upon them, killed them all Then, ere word could get out, he dispatched others to Seisyll's camp, there abducted Seisyll's wife and, right before her eyes, murdered her sevenyear-old son " Thomas reined in, looked challengmgly at Aubrey "I bear no love for the Welsh, but vengeance such as that does no man honor " Aubrey was shocked "But he had such an agreeable nature, was quick to jest, to open his purse to his friends And he seemed truly pious, never passed a wayside cross without offering up a prayer " "Farsighted of him, I daresay, given how greatly he'll be in need of prayers come Judgment Day Although, to be fair, there are those who say de Braose was urged to it by his km There are even those who think 'he old King was not displeased And that bloody night at Abergavenny 15 twenty years past But none would deny that de Braose is a hard man, a man not overburdened with scruples " Thomas laughed suddenly Little wonder his greatest friend at court is none other than Lord John'" Aubrey was not surprised that Thomas should be so indiscreet, not

  206 after some six weeks in the letter's company. But he had no intention Of compromising himself, of sharing his political prejudices with Thornas "Indeed?" he said coolly, and then, "torn, look at the sky. There rnUs[ be a fire ahead." Thomas stared at the smoke spiraling up through the trees, and then spurred his stallion forward. Rounding a bend in the road, he earn? to an abrupt halt. Aubrey and the squire reined in, too. "Christ Jesus!" Thomas sounded stunned, turned to Aubrey in dis. belief. "The whoreson's besieging Mold!" Aubrey searched in vain for an identifying banner. "Who?" "Llewelyn, you fool! Who else would dare?" SMOKE from the smoldering palisades drifted across the outer bailey, set Llewelyn's men to coughing. Most of the faces around him were well smudged with soot, but he saw only jubilant smiles, for they'd broken through the first ring of the castle defenses. Ahead lay the deep ditch that separated the inner and outer baileys, and beyond, the castle curtain wall, a far more formidable obstacle than the timber palisades, which had been easily set afire with brushwood and flaming arrows. But the curtain wall was stone, the gateway shielded by a portcullis grille. The drawbridge meant to link the two baileys still blazed, torched by retreating soldiers. Llewelyn glanced about at his captains, said, "We can do nothing till we fill in the ditch; see to it. But we'll need cover Remember, their crossbows may be more cumbersome than our bows, but they have a greater range." As if to prove his point, behind him a man screamed, fell forward into the dirt. Up on the walls, an English bowman gave a triumphant shout. Encouraged, his comrades loosed their own arrows down into the bailey. The Welsh drew back, retreating behind a wall of upraised shields. When enough wood, sand, and fagots had been thrown into the ditch, Llewelyn signaled and the battering ram was brought up, a huge tree trunk capped in iron, sheltered by a large-wheeled shed fireproofed with raw cowhide. Ednyved ducked behind the shed, gave the battering ram an approving pat. "What are your orders?" "Whilst we seek to break through with the ram, turn the mangonels upon the walls. Now I want every bowman we have aiming up at the walls. Have the scaling ladders ready." Ednyved gave a pleased grunt. "Consider it done," he said, crawled under the shed to confer with the men crouching within. Llewelyn raised his right arm, dropped it sharply. At once the air throbbed

  207 the twanging of Welsh longbows, and the battering ram began peaking across the bailey RV the time the shed reached the curtain wall, the castle defenders rajnmg every possible sort of missile down upon it stones, lances, torches, even quicklime But it continued to creep inexorably forward, ke a huge shelled turtle, leaving a trail of deflected weaponry in its ke Once within range, the men inside jerked on the ropes, st
raining ntil the massive log began to swing back and forth, gathering momenturn and smashing into the portcullis There was a splintering, the iron einforcements held, but the wood buckled, and the Welsh raised a cheer The capture of Mold Castle would be a signal victory for the Welsh, and Llewelyn had left little to chance, his army was equipped both with the huge crossbow machines known as balhstas and with the even larger mangonels, catapulthke devices capable of launching boulders of considerable size He watched as his largest mangonel was dragged forward, as a windlass was wrenched to pull the beam back, as it was loaded with heavy rocks, and then released The beam jerked back to a vertical position, propelling the rocks into a deadly overhead arc Some shattered against the castle walls, others plummeted down into the inner ward Not waiting to savor their success, his men were already reloading the mangonel Llewelyn paused long enough to shout, "Good lads'" and then sprinted across the open ground toward the lean-to being set up by the ditch "Bring out the second mangonel," he panted "And keep your shields up They're launching red-hot bolts from the walls, I just saw one go clean through a man's belly " So far, all was going according to Llewelyn's expectations The battering ram continued its relentless thrusting Up on the walls, men were lowering large hooks, desperately fishing for the ram, but the arrow fire was too intense for any man to risk exposure for long, and they were grappling blindly "Llewelyn1" Rhys raced for the lean-to, flung himself down a split second before an arrow buried itself in the wood above his head It had all but grazed his hair, yet he said only, "Close, that one Llewelyn, they signal from the ram They've broken through the portcullis, have reached the door " "Now1" Again Llewelyn raised his arm, let it fall "Do not let up, drive them off the walls'" And as his bowmen obeyed, launching arrow after arrow with eye-blurring speed, he pulled his sword from its scabbard, brought his shield up With wild yells, the Welsh rushed the castle walls Those up on the elements threw down stones, flaming pitch, more than one Welshan Was engulfed in fire, rolled screaming upon the ground But Llewe-