297 boy. "He has ever been like that," she said proudly, "ever been 'lling to share. Unlike Elen, whose first word was 'mine'!" "She is rather an imp, is she not? Not like you at her age, I'll wager!" Joanna laughed ruefully, gave her dark-haired little daughter a look f bemused affection. "Lord, no. She must take after her father, for she urely does not take after me. You'd not believe the trouble she gets nto and still a fortnight from her second birthday. But she is clever, Isabelle, so clever; do you know she talks to me in French and Llewelyn in Welsh?" The children's wet nurses had now entered Isabelle's chamber, and the game was forgotten; all four were still suckling, and would be until oast their second birthdays. Joanna watched as they were ushered toward the far end of the chamber, said, "This has been such a good year, the best I can remember: Llewelyn agreeing to pass Easter with papa at Northampton; getting to see you and Papa again just six months later; above all, Papa forgiving Llewelyn for going into Powys as he did. As much as I dread to see Llewelyn ride off to war, I was almost pleased when Papa wanted him to join the campaign against the Scots. I felt that might well mend the rift between them. And it did, showed Papa that Llewelyn does mean to hold to his oath of allegiance." "That was a marvelous war, was it not? The best kind, brief and bloodless and oh, so profitable! John was right pleased, says those who call the Scots King 'William the Lion' ought better to call him 'the Lamb'!" "What shall be done with William's daughters, Isabelle? The ones he was forced to yield up to Papa as hostages?" "They shall be well treated, kept at court. John never maltreats women; look how he provides for his niece, Eleanor of Brittany, sees that she has whatever she wants." "All save freedom," Joanna said sadly. "She was about seven years older than I, which would now make her twenty-five or so. By that age, most women have husbands, children . . ." She did not go on. She did not blame her father, understood he had no choice. But it hurt, nonethe- ess/ to think of her cousin's gilded confinement at Bristol Castle, and s * sought hastily for another topic of conversation. She'd been some- at taken aback by the luxury of Isabelle's chamber. She and John *ere not at Woodstock all that frequently, yet the walls had been inscoted with fir shipped from Norway, painted a brilliant green and ' ar>d the windows were glazed, set with costly white glass panes. "f chamber is a marvel, Isabelle. Papa does right by you, in truth." earest, nothing comes to a woman unless she asks. You ought to
298 coax Llewelyn into having your chambers done over. If you're clever he'll not refuse, will even come in time to think it was his own idea." Joanna laughed. "How little you know of Wales. Llewelyn coul
299 eil and wimple, handed Joanna a brush, confiding, "I had a scare this wring/ thought I might be with child again I do not mind having more, think I'd like a daughter But I've borne John two sons in fifteen months, have no desire to drop a litter a year1 So to give myself some breath- ng space, I've been taking brake-root in wine " "But Isabelle, that is a sin You know what the Church does say, that nothing must be done to prevent a child's conception " Isabelle shrugged "I know, too, who gets to bear that childnot His Holiness the Pope But you cannot be all that eager yourself to face the birthing chamber again, Joanna At the least, you should put a jasper stone under your pillow when you lay with Llewelyn Ask him to get you one, you need not tell him what it is for " "Of course I would tell him1 Think you I'd do that without his consent7" "And what if he balks7 If he is one of those men who judges his manhood by his wife's protruding belly7" "Not Llewelyn," Joanna said and smiled "The midwives think it unlikely that I'll be able to carry a child again to full term, think I might not even conceive again When I told Llewelyn that, he said, Thank the Lord God1' He has ever" Breaking off in mid-sentence, she jumped to her feet, ran to console her son Davydd had begun an unsteady trek across the chamber toward his mother, only to lose a precarious balance and fall upon his face Picking him up, Joanna soothed and teased until his sobs ceased, until he settled contentedly in her lap, began to suck upon a sticky little thumb "Joanna, I confess I still do not understand Welsh laws of succession John says illegitimacy is no bar, that Gruffydd has the same rights as your son Is that true7 Does that make him Llewelyn's heir, as the firstborn7" "Under Welsh law, all sons share equally in the father's estates It is a fair system for the common people, fairer for younger sons than Norman primogeniture, which gives all to the eldest son But it has one dreadful drawback, Isabelle, how do you divide a kingdom7 What inevitably happens when a prince dies is that his sons fight amongst themselves, winner-take-all to the survivor " "You're saying that when Llewelyn dies, Gwynedd would be parti°ned between his two bastard-born Welsh sons and your Davydd7" Joanna nodded grimly "And the very thought does terrify me It is ot lust a question of preserving Davydd's rightful inhentance Should befall Llewelyn ere Davydd reaches manhood, it would become a ^estion of Davydd's very life " Is there nothing you can do, Joanna7"
300 "There must be." Joanna brushed her lips to her son's pitch-black hair. "Blessed Mary, but there must be." "i THINK not, have no desire for an English knife at my throat." "Do not be insulting; I am Norman, not English. And you let me cut your hair, do you not? So why should I not shave you? Unless you truly want to trust your throat to a barber so greensick from wine that he seems stricken with palsy? Now lie down. I'll be right careful, have no wish to get blood all over the bed!" "Why am I so sure I am going to regret this?" But Llewelyn did as Joanna bade, lay back and rested his head in her lap. "There now," Joanna said with satisfaction some minutes later. "Almost done and I've yet to draw blood." She cocked her head to the side in playful appraisal. "Have you never wondered how you'd look without your mustache?" Llewelyn's eyes snapped open. "You would not dare!" "Ah, Llewelyn, how I wish you had not said that. Now I feel obliged to prove to you that I would!" She let the razor hover tantalizingly close to its target, laughing, and when he grabbed her wrist, sought to pull her down beside him, she wriggled free, defended herself with the pillow. Neither realized how close they'd rolled toward the edge of the bed, not until it was too late, until their struggle carried them over the side, tumbling down onto the floor rushes. Joanna was breathless but unhurt; in falling, Llewelyn had managed to twist away, to keep from landing on top of her. She rose to her knees, pulled her skirt down. "Are you all right?" she asked, stopped laughing when he admitted reluctantly: "No, I think not ..." "Oh, love, you did not hurt your back again?" She leaned toward him solicitously, then gave a muffled scream when he pounced, rolling over and pinning her under the weight of his body. Joanna found herself utterly helpless, unable to move. "I should have known; you're so untrustworthy," she scolded, smothering her laughter against his shoulder. "Now let me up. Papa is awaiting us in the great hall." "Make it worth my while and I might." "If I were to say I was sorry, that I do love your mustache?" He considered gravely, shook his head. "Not good enough." "Well, that was my best offer." Squirming under him, she made an intriguing discovery. "When Gwenwynwyn and Maelgwn call y°u hard, they do not know the half of it, do they? So it's not true, then, that when a man gets to be your age, his powers begin to wane?"
301 "My age?" he echoed, with mock indignation. "I'm but six and thirty1" "That is, after all, twice as old as I am," she pointed out gleefully, nd deliberately shifted her hips to make the most of his erection. "Wanton," he murmured, his mouth against her throat. "If you do not stop tempting me, we are going to bypass the great hall altogether, are going to continue this conversation in bed. So do not say you were n0t warned." "Love, you know we have to be there." Joanna sighed, with real regret. "Otherwise, I'd like nothing better than . . . conversing with you. You're such a deep, penetrating conversationalist, after all," she sajd, all but choked in trying not to laugh at her own weak pun. She'd never yet bested him at wordplay, and she waited expectantly to see how he would improve upon her effort. Instead he said, "Do come in, John." "You'll have to do better than that," Joanna scoffed. "You played that trick upon me once before, remember? Looking up and saying, 'Yes, Morgan?' at a moment when we most definitely had no need of witnesses!" The memory ma
de her laugh; Llewelyn did, too. But then he sat up. "I was not jesting, Joanna," he said, and Joanna turned her head, saw her father standing in the doorway of the bedchamber. John's face was impassive, showed absolutely nothing of what he was thinking. "I trust I'm not interrupting anything of urgency?" Llewelyn grinned, but he could see the embarrassed blush rising in Joanna's face and throat; taking pity on her, he held his tongue, showed his amusement only in the exaggerated gallantry with which he helped her to her feet. Privacy was an unknown luxury, and Joanna had long since become accustomed to people intruding into their bedchamber at inopportune moments, surprising her on Llewelyn's lap, in his arms, once in the midst of a soapily erotic shared bath. But never before had she felt as she did now, flustered and thoroughly discomfited. "The last of the Welsh Princes have arrived, and they are awaiting us now in the hall." For the first time John looked directly at Joanna, his eyes opaque, utterly unreadable. "I thought we would enter together." 'We would be honored, Papa." Joanna hastily snatched up her veil, crossed to her father. Laying a hand upon his arm, she looked search- lng'y into his face. She still thought him to be a handsome man, but she ought, too, that time was not treating him kindly. She knew he would be forty-two until December, yet the ink-black hair was liberally Jacked with grey; his eyes were bloodshot, shadowed by suspicions y°nd satisfying, the mouth thinned, inflexible, not as open to laugher as Joanna remembered.
302 What could she say, that she ached for him, grieved that he had s much and so little? "I love you, Papa," she said, saw his mouth soften and put her arms around his neck. "I love you, too, sweetheart," John said gently, for a moment held her in a close, comforting embrace. But he was not looking at his daughter, was gazing over her shoulder at the man she'd married. JOANNA watched as Llewelyn knelt before her father, did homage to John as his King and liege lord. The hall was quiet; Llewelyn's voice carried clearly to all, his matter-of-fact tones revealing none of the distaste Joanna knew he must feel. John was now making the obligatory response, promising to do all in his power to guarantee Llewelyn's peaceful possession of Gwynedd, raising his son-in-law up to give him the ritual kiss of peace. Llewelyn then declared, "In the name of the Holy Trinity and in reverence of these sacred relics, I swear that I will truly keep the oath which I have given, and will always remain faithful to you, my King and seigneur," and then it was over, and Joanna took more comfort from the ceremony than she knew it warranted, tried to convince herself that there could indeed be a true and abiding harmony between the two men she loved. Gwenwynwyn alone was absent, a prisoner of the crown for the past twelvemonth. But Madog ap Gruffydd was there, Prince of Upper Powys, Llewelyn's first cousin and ally. So, too, were the Princes of Deheubarth, of South Wales, Maelgwn and his brother, Rhys Gryg, and one by one they followed Llewelyn to the dais, knelt to do homage to the English King. After them came the younger Welsh lords, Llewelyn's cousin Hywel and Maelgwn's estranged nephews, Owain and Rhys leunac; all three were in their mid-twenties, and all three were Llewelyn's sworn men. It was Hywel who was to give a deliberate and dramatic demonstration of where his loyalties lay. No sooner had he done homage to John than he crossed the hall, knelt before Llewelyn, and swore oaths of homage and fidelity for the lordship of Meirionydd. The Welsh system of inheritance did not promote family unity; all too often it fostered fratricide, set brother against brother in a bitter battle for supremacy. So it had been with Llewelyn's father and uncles. So, too, it had been in the South, where Maelgwn and Rhys Gryg were the survivors of a long and bloody war of succession. Owain and Rhys leunac were a rarity, therefore, brothers who were not rivals, who acted as one. In the silence that settled over the hall after Hywel's acknowledgment of allegiance, Owain and Rhys exchanged wordless looks ot perfect understanding. Then they, too, crossed the hall, did homage to Llewelyn for Ceredigion.
r 303 A rnan could, and very, often did, owe allegiance to two or more lords In choosing to do homage to Llewelyn, the Welshmen were 11 within their legal rights But Joanna wished fervently that they had done so, had not acted to tarnish her father's moment of triumph mi elewn was standing just to her right, close enough to touch He was sinking-looking man in his early forties, no taller than John, with a thick head of tawny hair and the blue eyes of the true Celt, those eyes ,ere the coldest Joanna had ever seen She watched his face as his nephews did homage to Llewelyn for lands once his, and shivered, suddenly and uncontrollably "Did Llewelyn plan that7" a voice murmured at her ear When she shook her head, Richard swore under his breath "Papa will not ever believe he did not, Joanna," he said somberly RICHARD took a seat as inconspicuously as possible, not entirely comfortable to be in the company of these men, the most powerful lords of his father's realm As he glanced about the table, it was with a distinct shock that he realized how few of them bore his father no grievances, how few were not in some sort of disfavor Chester seemed to have weathered John's earlier suspicions And his Uncle Will, of course, still stood high in John's favor So, too, did John's mercenary captains, Falkes de Breaute and Robert de Vieuxpont Richard thought them to be men without honor, men who whored for the lord who'd pay the most, but their very practicality would keep them loyal, none could pay better than the King Peter des Roches had proved his loyalty even to John's exacting satisfaction, remaining in England despite the Pope's Interdict The same could not be said, though, for the others William de Ferrers, Earl of Derby, had the bad luck to be a nephew to William de Braose The northern baron Eustace de Vesci was suspect because of his links to the Scottish crown, he was wed to a bastard daughter of King William The Earl of Huntingdon's predicament was even more acute, he was the Scots King's brother Richard de Clare, Earl °f Hertford, was twice damned in John's judgment, he had welcomed John's accession to the throne with less than wholehearted enthusiasm, ar>d his daughter was wife to William de Braose's eldest son William de Braose was casting a long shadow indeed, Richard '"ought bleakly Even the faithful, upright Earl of Pembroke had stum- ed over it, had foolishly taken pity on the fugitive de Braose family, briefly given them shelter on his Irish estates, for which John had a6 to forgive him The truth his father did not want to face was unpleas- v dear to Richard, that there was a growing groundswell of sympa-
304 r 305 thy for de Braose among his fellow barons, not because he'd been liked but because he'd been so powerful, so apparently invulnerable. There was not a man in this chamber, Richard knew, who had not thought to himself: The same thing could happen to me, to mine, should the King ever turn against me as he did de Braose. This was the first council meeting since they'd departed Woodstock for John's hunting lodge at Silverston. Richard knew what his father wanted to discuss: his coming campaign in Ireland, with its dual purpose of capturing the de Braoses and punishing those lords who'd dared to harbor them, an expedition he meant to finance with the fifteen thousand marks he'd extorted from the King of Scotland. The council meeting began on an entirely different and discordant note, however. Eustace de Vesci leaned across the table, said with poorly concealed relish, "I've news Your Grace should know. The Pope has given the order for your excommunication." Suddenly the chamber was very quiet. The Interdict was causing no small degree of suffering for John's subjects, but so far it had not had the effect the Pope desired, had not undermined the allegiance of the English. A large majority still supported John's position, that it was the King's right to choose an Archbishop of Canterbury, and not for the Pope to force his own man upon them. It was only to be expected, therefore, that the Pope would resort to excommunication, which made of John an outcast among all men of faith. No Christian was to break bread with an excommunicate; he was to be shunned as a moral leper, as a man doomed to eternal damnation. John looked at de Vesci for a long moment, then smiled coldly "'When I was a child, I spake as a child, I understood as a child, I thought as a child, but when I became a man, I put away childish things.'" Richard heard more than one indrawn breath, and looking around, he saw that his father had profoundly shocked most of the men. Even the cynical de Vesci seemed taken aba
ck. How much bravado was there in John's blasphemy? Richard did not know. The sentence of excommunication had come as no surprise to John; he'd been privately warned days ago by Peter des Roches that the decree was imminent, had time enough to come to terms with it. Rich' ard knew, of course, that his father was not the most pious of men, but what man could contemplate damnation forever and aye without recoil/ without an inner shudder of the soul? It was the pragmatic Chester who at last ended an acutely uncom fortable silence, saying calmly, "Have you thought, my liege, of tn problems this will pose for you ... for us? How the common people wi' react?" "The common people are not likely even to know. Let the Pope proclaim it from now till Judgment Dayin France, Brittany, Normandy. But who's to proclaim it for him in England? My lord Bishop of Winchester is the only prelate still on English soil." Peter des Roches smiled imperturbably, confirming what all already j^iew, that he'd chosen his King over his Pope, ambition over obedience- "Your Grace is, as ever, quite right," he said blandly. "Shall we speak now of Your Grace's Irish expedition?" "Not yet." John signaled for wine, said, "I've had word from Shrewsbury. Gwenwynwyn is offering no less than twenty hostages for his freedom, as a pledge of future loyalties." That was of little interest to de Vesci and the Earl of Derby; theirs were not Marcher lands. It was of enormous interest, though, to border lords like Chester and de Clare. And to Richard, for altogether different reasons. "Do you intend to release him, Your Grace?" "I expect so ... sooner or later." "You do know that will mean war?" Chester's eyes were suddenly speculative. "Once Gwenwynwyn is free, he'll seek to regain what was his."
Here Be Dragons - 1 Page 38
