Here Be Dragons - 1

by Sharon Kay Penman

  257 h'nking that however much John had done for her, it was not enough. Lot nearly enough. "You hold yourself too cheaply, breila," he said gently. "It is true hat when I came to Chester last spring, it was to wed with the English r/-nc;'s daughter. But I did ride back through a snowstorm tonight for Joanna." 21 TEWKESBURY, ENGLAND Nopemfor 1207 I OHN leaned over the cradle, gazed down at his sleeping son. He felt no particular tenderness for the child, not yet; he'd never had any interest in infants. But he did feel a deep sense of wonder. "Wherever did he get such red hair? I'm right glad that you are not a suspicious husband, love!" "My father had reddish hair," John said absently, only half listening to his wife. But then he caught the scent of rosemary, felt her arms slip around his waist. For more than six years she'd been unable to conceive, to give him the heir a King must have. Had she ever despaired? Had she feared that he might put her aside, find grounds to disavow the marriage? He did not know, for they had never discussed it. He'd shrunk from ever saying it aloud, gripped by an irrational belief that to admit his fear would be to make it fact. Turning now, he looked at the lovely face upturned to his. How fair she was. But that had only served to feed his fear. For as the years had passed and her womb failed to Quicken, he'd begun to suspect that God had played a macabre and sardonic jest upon him, giving him as wife and Queen the most beautiful

  258 woman he'd ever seen, the most desirable bedmate he'd ever had- -only then to make her barren. When she'd suddenly announced that she was pregnant, he'd been stunned, and then wary, not letting himself hope. She could still mis carry, could give birth to a daughter; God might well see that as the ultimate ironic jest. But her pregnancy had been utterly uneventful, and on the morning of October 1, she had given birth to a healthy son. "Geoffrey, Richard, Osbert, Oliver, Henry . . . and now Henry again, for our babe. Why have you not named any of your sons after yourself, John?" John shrugged, glanced across the chamber at the monk hovering in the doorway. "What is it?" "Your son has returned from Wales, my liege. May he enter?" John nodded, and a moment later Richard strode swiftly into the chamber. "You've given me a devil of a chase, Papa. I reached Winchcombe this morn, only to be told you'd departed for St Mary's Abbey, was not at all sure I'd be able to overtake you." "Never mind that. What news of Joanna?" Richard grinned. "The best news, Papa. On All Saints' Day, Joanna did give birth to a black-haired baby daughter." "Did she now?" John smiled. "She and the babe, they are all right?" "Indeed, Papa," Richard said without hesitation. In truth, Joanna had not had an easy time; the birth had been a difficult one. But Joanna was now convalescing, was rapidly regaining her strength, and Richard, ever a pragmatist, saw no need for his father and Isabelle to know. "A girl. . ." Isabelle was staring at Richard in dismay. "Was Joanna very disappointed?" "She was not disappointed at all." There was a pause, and then Isabelle said, "I'm so glad," but without any conviction. She knew that had she herself given birth to a daughter, not all the balm in Gilead could have healed so grievous a hurt. Linking her arm in John's, she murmured, "A January return, a November birthour Joanna did not waste any time putting my advice into practice, did she?" John looked at her so blankly that she prompted, "Do you not remember, love? What I told you about Joanna and Llewelyn?" John gave a noncommittal grunt, and she fought an urge to laugh. One of the traits she most liked in John was their shared love of gossipHe was no less interested than she in court scandal, enjoyed regaling her with bawdy stories and ribald jests, with invariably accurate accounts of who was sinning with whom. But not once had she ever heard him mention the most scandalous stories of all, those lurid rumors of his mother's youthful indiscretions. And he was, of a sudden, showing the

  259 reticence about his daughter's love life. It amused Isabelle in no all measure, but the lesson was not lost upon her. Seeing now that Richard was regarding her with uncomprehending curiosity, she gave him a meaningless smile, having no intention of enlightening him, for , her lights, secrets shared in bed did not count and her faith still remained unbroken. John moved away from the cradle, settled himself comfortably in n cushioned window seat. "Do not keep me in suspense, Richard. What unpronounceable Welsh name did Llewelyn inflict upon that innocent babe?" "Elen, which is Welsh for Helen." John pondered that for a moment and then conceded, "Well, I grant you it could be worse. But is it true that Llewelyn is making Joanna learn that lunatic language of his?" Richard laughed, before realizing that his father was not joking. "I do believe it was Joanna's idea, Papa," he said mildly, and John frowned. "Indeed? It's well and good to be a dutiful wife, but..." "Dutiful wife?" Richard echoed, much amused. "Papa, Joanna does" "John, love, did you not say you'd promised to spare some moments for Abbot Walter ere we sup?" Isabelle's intercession was adroitly done, her query conveying no more than a commendable wifely concern. But Richard was not slow; he gave his stepmother a probing look, then wandered over to the cradle to study his baby brother. John was in no hurry to depart; it was some moments before he reluctantly went off in search of the Abbot. As soon as the door closed behind him, Richard demanded, "Why did you cut me short like that, Isabelle?" "Because, my dearest, you were about to say that Joanna is hopelessly besotted with her husband ... or words to that effect, were you not?" "And if I was? It is true enough, after all." "Of course it is true. But to say so would have done neither John nor Joanna a kindness, and least of all Llewelyn." Richard started to protest, stopped, and reflected upon what she seemed to be saying. Isabelle was only a year older than he, and when he'd first begun to feel the sexual stirrings of manhood, he had, for a nme of brief and exquisite torment, believed himself to be in love with nis father's beautiful wife. So shamed had he been by these wayward yearnings that he'd fought them the only way he knew how, by scornlng the object of his sinful lust, by convincing himself that Isabelle was a nv°lous little fool, vain and flighty. As an amputation of the soul, it

  260 proved to be an effective if drastic cure, and in time he'd outgrown both the desire and the disdain. Within the past year or so, he'd found his sense of perspective returning, and he was once again able to look up0n his stepmother without distortion, to see her for what she was and what she was not. It would never occur to him to discuss with Isabelle the ramifications of John's ongoing quarrel with the Pope. Richard well knew that Isabelle gave little thought to the threat of Interdict and excommunication. But Isabelle knew his father as no one else did, was the first woman to hold his affections, in and out of bed. That was no small feat; it earned her the right to be heard, and he said, "Why do you say that, Isabelle? Papa wants Joanna to be happy; surely you do not doubt that?" "Yes, he does," she agreed indulgently. "He wants her to be safe and cared for and content. He does not want her to be utterly and passionately in love with Llewelyn ab lorwerth. Ah, Richard, do you know your father as little as that? Do you not know that John needs ever to come first with those who love him? Is that so surprising? Why do you think John did not attend Joanna's wedding? Oh, I know the reasons he gave why he could not. But if he'd truly wanted to be there, he would have been. He did not, and so he was not." Joining Richard by the cradle, she began to rock it gently back and forth. "Trust me, Richard, in this. Do not speak to John of Joanna's abiding love for Llewelyn; he does not want to hear it. I think Joanna must sense that, for her letters to him are unlike those to me. To me alone does she go on at length about the unlikely perfections of her Welsh Prince." She laughed suddenly, giving Richard a look that was amused and affectionate and faintly flirtatious. "If he is half as good as she thinks, she's found herself a rare man indeed, one well worth the keeping! Now tell me . . . we know Joanna's heart. But what of Llewelyn? You've seen them together, Richard; does he love her?" "That is a woman's question if ever I heard one! How would I be likely to know that, Isabelle? I can only tell you that he seems fond enough of her." Richard paused, considering. "He has a hunting lodge at Trefriw in the River Conwy valley. The nearest church is at Rhychwyn, about a two-mile walk up a mountain path too steep for horses, and when Llewelyn learned Joanna was with child, he o
rdered a church built at Trefriw to spare her that walk." "He loves her, then," Isabelle declared with satisfaction, and Richard hid a smile, for he'd known she would be quickest to comprehend tangible expressions of caring. "Madame?" One of Isabelle's ladies stood in the doorway. "Ma" dame, the Lady Margaret de Lacy is without, seeks some moments w»tn you." A I:

  262 Isabella's face was suddenly still, remote. "No," she said. "I do not wish to see her." As the woman withdrew, Richard gave Isabelle a pensive look. Like st people at John's court, he had been shocked by William de Brae's abrupt and unexpected fall from favor. The purported reason for the estrangement between John and de Braose was money; de Braose wed the crown a considerable sum, for in 1201 John had allowed de Braose to purchase the Irish honour of Limerick for five thousand marks, yet de Braose had unaccountably ignored the set schedule for payment, paying only a meagre hundred marks to date upon the debt. John had suddenly demanded payment in full, and when de Braose was unable or unwilling to comply, he found himself in political limbo, no longer welcome at John's court. Richard did not doubt that Margaret de Lacy was here on her father's behalf, but what interested him now was the finality in Isabelle's refusal. Although she rarely interceded with John on behalf of petitioners, she generally accorded them a careless courtesy, was willing to hear them out. That she would deny Margaret de Lacy even the briefest audience was in itself significant to Richard, told him that de Braose was in much deeper disgrace than he'd realized. There could be only one logical explanation for this surprising rupture of a relationship that had endured for fully half of Richard's lifetime, an explanation to be found within the shadowed silence of Rouen Castle. Richard was sure that Arthur was the key to the mystery of de Braose's downfall. Just as de Braose was the key to Arthur's disappearance. Richard was, even at eighteen, a realist. He loved his father, but it had been more than four years since any man had laid eyes upon Arthur. Now he hesitated, but the temptation was irresistible. "Isabelle, have you never asked Papa about Arthur?" "Jesu, no!" She was looking at him as if he were mad. "Indeed I have not!" "But are you not curious? Do you never wonder, never want to know the truth of it?" "No," she said flatly. "I do not wonder. I do not ask." The blue eyes were guarded, almost hostile. "I do not want to know."

  22 ABER, NORTH WALES March uoB I LN Llewelyn's absence, Joanna had presided over the evening meal in the great hall. Now servants had dismantled the trestle tables, and she'd seated herself upon the dais, was making a request that Llywarch sing for them. Her halting Welsh grated unbearably against Gruffydd's ear. He hated how she mangled his language, hated her alien French accent, hated the way her clumsy efforts won his father's uncritical praise. Feeling a tug at his sleeve, Gruffydd looked down, saw his little sister Marared holding out a thick strip of leather. "My dog's collar," she explained. "Make it fit tighter, Gruffydd." He obligingly cut another hole with his eating knife, and she went off, content. Gruffydd waited a few moments, and then moved casually in the direction of the hearth, stopping before the cradle. Seeing that no one was watching him, he leaned over, stared down at his baby sister. He'd expected to hate her as he hated her mother. But each time he looked at her, he felt only relief, only an intense, abiding thankfulness that Joanna had not given birth to a son. For nine years he had been Llewelyn's only son and heir; the birth, three years ago, of his brother Tegwared had been a severe shock to Gruffydd. But Tegwared did not live at Llewelyn's court, was born of a concubine, and Gruffydd na gradually come around to a grudging acceptance of Cristyn's son. J anna's son would be a far greater threat, a far more dangerous nv although Welsh law did not distinguish between legitimate and u'e& mate offspring, Holy Church did, would have to favor a child born wedlock. If that woman ever bore Papa a son, he might lose all, ev Papa's love. ue Gruffydd drew an uneven breath, tried to fight back his fear- ^ knew she would poison Papa's mind against him if she could- °

  263 have more faith in Papa He had to Suddenly warned by a ha sense awareness, he raised his head For the span of several hostile tbeats, his eyes held Joanna's, and then she looked away Hot color ded Gruffydd's face He'd seen her look at him that way before v time he came within two feet of Elen Damn her, did she think 6V d ever hurt a baby7 He reached defiantly for the rattle, held it within pi n's range of vision Elen was his sister, was not to blame for her {rnan blood, and he would somehow see that she was raised right, ed Welsh He'd not let that foreign woman win "Take care, Gruffydd Yours is too easy a face to read," a voice cautioned behind him, and he spun around to face two of Ednyved's sons, Hvwel and Tudur Tudur was the same age as Gruffydd, they'd both celebrated their twelfth birthdays within the past week Hywel was two vears older, was the one who'd spoken "So7 As long as I am not rude to her, what right has she to cornplain7 She cannot fault me for what I m thinking at least not yet " Across the hall, Joanna was thanking Llywarch, and as Gruffydd listened, his mouth twisted scornfully "Did you ever hear anyone sound so peculiar7 She makes a mockery of our tongue every time she opens her mouth1" Tudur gave a sympathetic nod, but Hywel shrugged "I seem to remember you blaming her last year because she insisted upon speaking only French " Gruffydd's eyes narrowed "Elen was named after one of the most celebrated of Welsh heroines, the Elen of the Hosts acclaimed in the Triads But do you think she knows that7 That she even knows what the Triads are7 She asked Papa one question only, what Elen meant in Norman-French1" "I do not deny that she is ignorant of our history, of our ways," Hywel conceded, then jerked his head in the direction of the Lady Gwenlhan "But I'd still trade our stepmother for yours any day1" 'That shows how little you know, does it not7" Gruffydd snapped, and Hywel's good humor vanished For a moment the two boys glared at °ne another, although Hywel had the advantage in years, Gruffydd *as only an inch shorter than he, and in their one brawl a few months ack' they'd fought to a bloody draw Now Hywel was the first to look Have it your own way Why should I care7" few turned on his heel, but his brother caught up with him after a m h^8' S31C* Placatlngly, "Do not be angry, Hywel Gruffydd's been ou ad,mood these past days Lord Llewelyn did forget his birthday, i see' Hywel paused, willing to be mollified, and Tudur lowered his voice,

  264 said in confidential tones, "All Friday Gruffydd did expect a courier come, and when none did, he was sorely hurt. He sought to hide it, j, all could see it plain in his face, and the Lady Joanna . . . well, she Just made things worse. She tried to make excuses for Lord Llewelyn, t0ij Gruffydd how busy his father was, how preoccupied with Gwenwyn wyn's border raids. Gruffydd was wild, as wroth as I've ever seen him But he dared not say anything to her, not after Lord Llewelyn warned him to mend his manners, to show her respect. So you did touch a raw spot with him, and that's why he flared up." "But why did her remarks anger Gruffydd so? It sounds as if she meant well." "Mayhap she did. But there were others around, and Gruffy^ thought she was deliberately calling it to our attention, that his father had forgotten him. And I know he much resented her offering apologies in Lord Llewelyn's name, saying she had no right, that his father did not need her to make amends for him. I can understand that, Hywel, in truth I can. Would you want our lady stepmother to make excuses to us for Papa?" "No," Hywel admitted. "I would not. If Gruffydd Tudur? You hear the dogs?" Tudur nodded, and turning, he yelled, "Gruffydd! I think your lord father has ridden in." Gruffydd was already moving eagerly toward the door. But Joanna was closer and, as Llewelyn strode into the hall, she reached him first, flung herself into his arms. Gruffydd stopped abruptly, watched as Llewelyn and Joanna embraced, watched as Joanna then took Llewelyn's arm, pulled him toward the cradle. As if he had no other children, Gruffydd thought bitterly. Joanna was claiming most of Llewelyn's attention, holding up their baby for his inspection, and Gruffydd's sisters, Marared and Gwladys and Gwenllian, were clamoring, too, for notice. It was some moments, therefore, before Llewelyn missed his son. He found Gruffydd leaning against one of the wooden screens that blocked off the side aisle, moved toward the boy with a smile. "Have you no greeting for me, lad?" "Indeed, Papa. Welcome home," Gruffydd sai
d, quite coolly- But when he saw his father's smile fade, he was caught up in a welter of painful and confusing emotions, no longer sure why he'd wanted to punish Llewelyn, for having forgotten his birthday or for loving King John's daughter. "Are you angry with me, Gruffydd?" Llewelyn studied his son/ and then grinned. "I see. You think I did forget your birthday again. NO this time, lad. Come, see for yourself." Men with torches stood outside in the bailey, and when Gruffyd