340 There was a long pause, and then he nodded. "It seems I have ^ choice." Joanna had often heard Llewelyn quote a caustic Welsh prove^ one that spoke of a borrowed smile. She could feel just such a snulf twisting her mouth, a counterfeit coin to pay a debt of dishonor Shf could take no pride in what she had accomplished. Gratitude, too, ^ an alien emotion to her at that moment. Even her sense of relief va, curiously muted. She was aware only of her utter exhaustion, and wher John led her toward a bench, she sank down upon the hard wood as if,« were a cushioned settle. She'd once seen a swimmer collapse upon the beach after battlim the sea back to shore; he'd lain panting in the shallows, digging his hands deep into the sand as if to anchor himself to the earth, too weak to do more than marvel at his reprieve. She felt much the same way ncm wanted only to sit and be left in peace, if only for a little while. But John had seated himself beside her on the bench, and he v,as saying grimly, "If Llewelyn comes to me here at Aberconwy, I will accept his surrenderfor you, Joanna. But more than that I cannot do He has much to answer for, and if he wants peace, it must be on my terms You do understand that?" She nodded, and John relaxed somewhat, sought then to swallow a noxious draught with grudging grace. "I expect you'll want to send word at once? How many hostages will he want as pledges for hi« safety? Five? Ten?" "No, Papa. He wants but one . . . your brother Will." John stiffened. "Christ Jesus!" "John, I do not mind, in truth I do not," Will interjected mildly, a< Joanna had known he would; it was one of God's minor miracles that Will had somehow survived more than fifty years without compromi^ ing his faith, without forfeiting his innocence. "It is only a formate after all. I'm glad to do it for you, and for the lass here." Joanna could endure no more. Jumping to her feet, she kissed fir'1 her father and then her uncle. "I shall never forget what you're doing fc1' me," she said huskily. "Never." But once she emerged out into the cloisters, she faltered. The sui seemed hot enough to blind, to burn all it touched; even when sfr closed her eyes, she could not squeeze out the light. She leaned i°r' moment against one of the stone columns, and then felt Richard's suportive hand on her elbow. "Come," he said, "there's a bench in the garth." They were alone in the sunlight. Richard had a soldier's flask af belt. He drank, then passed it to Joanna. "He was so set upon v
342 ance," he said wondermgly "You need never again doubt that he f0ves you, Joanna " "I know " Joanna drank from Richard's flask, found it filled with a ungent, spiced wine She gasped, sputtered, and then blurted out, "I A not know how I can ever look Uncle Will in the face again " "You were just acting as your husband's messenger Uncle Will understands that " "No I was not Llewelyn told me to insist upon hostages of high ank, rnen that Papa would be loath to lose But he did not demand Uncle Will as one of the hostages He would never have done that, for he knows how dear Uncle Will is to me " The blood rose in Joanna's cheeks so swiftly that her skin seemed on fire "I do love Uncle Will, Richard That's what is so unforgivable For I never hesitated " Joanna's voice trailed off After a long silence, she confessed, "But I suddenly knew that I was not willing to nsk Llewelyn's life on my father's word alone " LLEWELYN drew rein on the crest of the hill, stared down at the English encampment Seventeen years ago he'd won a decisive battle on this very site, had defeated his uncle and made himself ruler of half of Gwynedd at age twenty-one All of Gwynedd had been his before he was thirty But the banner now flying over the abbey was emblazoned with the royal arms of England The sun was hot, the hill infested with horseflies and mosquitoes, but none of the men complained They waited in sympathetic silence for Llewelyn to nerve himself for the ride down the hill, for his surrender to the English King When he finally moved, it was sudden, swift, took them by surprise He gave the chestnut its head, and it plunged down the slope, mane and tail taking the wind like flame, blazing into the English camp as if it had somehow seen into its rider's heart, shared his fettered rage, his fear, and his defiant despair His men spurred their horses to overtake the chestnut, some of them shouting as if on the trail of wild boar, and the resulting entrance °f the Welsh into the camp was a tumultuous one But as they gazed ab°ut them, realized what John had in mind, they fell silent, lost much 'heir bravado A few swore under their breaths, most tightened grips °n sword hilts, and all looked toward Llewelyn The chestnut was fractious, fighting the bit, but Llewelyn scarcely heed For days now he'd been morbidly reliving the scene in the great at Norham Castle, putting himself in the place of the discomfited °ts King But once again he'd underestimated John's capacity for
342 imaginative reprisal. For his was to be a very public humiliation, to be n less a spectacle than a bearbaiting or the hanging of a notorious high wayman. His surrender was not to be made in the abbey hall, nor in on of the English command tents, but out in the open in the glare of high noon, witnessed by all of John's troops and those of his Welsh allies One of the Abbot's high-backed chairs had been brought out for John; to his right were gathered the lords of his court, to his left the Welsh Princes. Llewelyn could count his enemies like rosary beadsGwenwynwyn, Maelgwn, Rhys Gryg, Thomas Corbet. Men who'd long hungered for this day, men who watched him with mocking eyes and smiles like unsheathed daggers. Even worse were the faces of his friends, his stepfather, Stephen and Baldwin de Hodnet, his consciencestricken cousins Madog and Hywel. They averted their eyes, like men too polite to look upon another's nakedness, offering him the lacerating balm of their pity, and Llewelyn's resolve faltered. For several harrowing seconds he found himself overwhelmed by emotions he'd never before experienceda physical fear of entrapment and a shattering sense of his own helplessness. Dismounting was an act of utter faith, the most difficult one of his life. With an intense effort of will, he blotted out the audience, focused his thoughts solely upon the man in the Abbot's oaken chair. And then he walked forward, knelt, and handed John his sword. "I submit myself unto the King's will," he said, and John smiled. "Surely you can do better than that. Not even the Lord God will forgive a man unless he first confesses his sins and then repents of them." Llewelyn had known John might demand this of himhad known, too, that he could never bring himself to do it. His mind raced, but he could think of no way to satisfy John while still salvaging his pride, and at last he said, with the candor born of desperation, "What would be the point? No matter how convincingly contrite I was, you'd not believe me, would know I did not speak from the heart. Would it not make more sense to speak of hard, irrefutable facts, of power? You've won. I admit your victory, acknowledge your authority as my King and liege lord. That I am here proves it beyond question, as does my willingness to do homage, to swear oath of allegiance as your vassal lord and liegeman. John laughed. "To put it in your own words, what would be the point? Twice in the past seven years you've done homage to me, hav you not? So all you've proven beyond question is that a Welshman sworn oath is worthless." Llewelyn was unnerved by the intensity of his rage, by the re'a tion of how close he was to losing control of his temper, his tongue- ' stared at John, his ears filled with the derisive laughter of John s
343 j-ers his heart filled with such hatred that he knew it must show on mkt^ u face for all to see. "Should I gather from your silence that you're loath to ask for» jitfe Q , I tion? Surely your pride is not as tender as all that. It did allowin 111%^ » fter all, to send a woman to plead for you!" Llewelyn was livid. "And would your brother Richard haven f'^j.j i Honed you at Lisieux if not for the intervention of your lady moth*' *i^gv n This time the laughter came from behind Llewelyn, came front* itm^- own men. He saw John's face twitch, saw he'd drawn blood. JoruM W
342 343 imaginative reprisal. For his was to be a very public humiliation, to be n diers, his heart filled with such hatred that he knew it must show on his less a spectacle than a bearbaiting or the hanging of a notorious high° ,'e for all to see wavman His surrender was not to be made in the abbey hall, nor in On "Should I gather from your silence that you re loath to ask for abso- of the English command tents, but out in the open in the glare of hil' ,ution? Surely your pride is not as tender as all that. It did allow yo
u, noon, witnessed by all of John's troops and those of his Welsh allies8 Derail, to send a woman to plead for you!" ' J , , i _ i 11 _ i . d»lv- . ___ ,.,^c. liiriH Anri iA7r»iilH wniir Vit-r»fVi£»i- Pi/^V»r»*-/4 U~»T7« n~.~ noon, witnessed by all of John's troops and those ot his Welsh all' One of the Abbot's high-backed chairs had been brought o John; to his right were gathered the lords of his court, to his 1 ft L' Welsh Princes. Llewelyn could count his enemies like rosary b H* Gwenwynwyn, Maelgwn, Rhys Gryg, Thomas Corbet. Men who'd 1 * hungered for this day, men who watched him with mocking eyes H smiles like unsheathed daggers. Even worse were the faces of h' friends, his stepfather, Stephen and Baldwin de Hodnet, his conscienc stricken cousins Madog and Hywel. They averted their eyes, like me too polite to look upon another's nakedness, offering him the laceratine balm of their pity, and Llewelyn's resolve faltered. For several harrowing seconds he found himself overwhelmed by emotions he'd never before experienceda physical fear of entrapment and a shattering sense of his own helplessness. Dismounting was an act of utter faith, the most difficult one of his life. With an intense effort of will, he blotted out the audience, focused his thoughts solely upon the man in the Abbot's oaken chair. And then he walked forward, knelt, and handed John his sword. "I submit myself unto the King's will," he said, and John smiled. "Surely you can do better than that. Not even the Lord God will forgive a man unless he first confesses his sins and then repents of them." Llewelyn had known John might demand this of himhad known, too, that he could never bring himself to do it. His mind raced, but he could think of no way to satisfy John while still salvaging his pride, and at last he said, with the candor born of desperation, "What would be the point? No matter how convincingly contrite I was, you'd not believe me, would know I did not speak from the heart. Would it not make more sense to speak of hard, irrefutable facts, of power? You've won. I adnu your victory, acknowledge your authority as my King and liege lo That I am here proves it beyond question, as does my willingness to o homage, to swear oath of allegiance as your vassal lord and 'ie§e ^ John laughed. "To put it in your own words, what would be point? Twice in the past seven years you've done homage to m / you not? So all you've proven beyond question is that a VVe s sworn oath is worthless." ^ Llewelyn was unnerved by the intensity of his rage, by ^ tion of how close he was to losing control of his temper, his to % ^ stared at John, his ears filled with the derisive laughter of J° """ for all to see. &ce . y i gather from your silence that you're loath to ask for abso? Surely your pride is not as tender as all that. It did allow you, lution',j to send a woman to plead for you!" a^er . ^eiyn was livid. "And would your brother Richard have par, u a{ Lisieux if not for the intervention of your lady mother?" This time the laughter came from behind Llewelyn, came from his en He saw John's face twitch, saw he'd drawn blood. John had ° n to his feet so abruptly
that the chair tilted, and Llewelyn instinc& , started to rise, too, only to freeze as John swung the sword up. Th weapon was three feet long, honed to a razor edge, tapered for hrusring. It had been custom-made for Llewelyn, and he knew better than most its killing capabilities. Now, with that naked blade leveled at his throat, his mouth went dry, he dared not even blink. He heard a woman cry out; although it did not sound like her, he knew it could only be Joanna. The sword's point was pressed against his windpipe, but Llewelyn's pulse was slowing, his breathing steadying, for he'd realized that John did not mean to kill him. He would never know what had stayed John's hand; Joanna's scream? Fear for Will? He could not even be sure John had ever meant to follow through on that first thrust. He knew only that John's eyes did not mirror the passion of a man provoked beyond all reason; his was a rage more glacial than volcanic, utterly implacable but controlled, icily deliberate, the rage of a man willing to wait for his vengeance. It was not the first time Llewelyn had seen his death foretold in another man's eyes, but never had the threat carried so much lethal conviction, all the more chilling in eyes eerily like Joanna's. He felt the pressure increase, felt a stinging sensation, knew that John, too, had drawn blood. And then the sword was withdrawn and John stepped Mck, beckoned to one of the watching men. "Take this," he said, "and break it." he man looked dubiously at the sword, uncomfortably aware how U£ Pressure the blade was meant to bear. But he made haste to obey, the sword and withdrew, shouting for a hammer and anvil, ^vn l eVL6 W3S Becoming aware again of their audience. Gwenwynyears °° llke a man at Peace with himself for the first time in three Thorna3^311 who/d Just received payment for a long-overdue debt. *" Hu h°r t00' was gleefully jubilant, Chester his usual impassive nored Ll ^et na88ard/ obviously ailing, while Eustace de Vesci igSurPrisine7e'yn alt°8ether' watched John with unblinking intensity. 8 y, Maelgwn had lost his smile; his eyes held Llewelyn's for
344 several moments, but his thoughts were masked, utterly his own. Joanna, however, was not within Llewelyn's range of vision. He'd have given a great deal had she only been back at Dolwyddelan, been anywhere but here, witness to his shame. "Your Grace!" Grinning triumphantly, a man was hastening toward John, holding out Llewelyn's sword. But it was no longer a weapon, was no more now than two twisted pieces of jagged metal. John reached out, took the hilt in one hand, the sundered blade in the other. "As easily as I broke this sword, so could I have broken you . . and would have, if it were not for my daughter. But do not count upon her to save you a second time. From this day forth, the Virgin Mary herself could speak for you and it would avail you naught." He flung the sword fragments to the ground. "Now you may withdraw," he said contemptuously, "and wait until I have time to speak with you about the terms of your surrender." Llewelyn got slowly to his feet. His pride was already in shreds; he knew that if he allowed John to dismiss him as if he were a serf, the memory would haunt him for the rest of his life. But he saw no way out of the trap. He stared down at his broken sword, and then looked up, saw his wife. Joanna's face was ashen, wet with tears, but her eyes were a brilliant, blazing green, and her mouth was contorted with rage. Richard was beside her, was gripping her arm, but as her eyes met Llewelyn's, she jerked free of her brother's restraining hold. Llewelyn stood very still, watched as she moved toward him. All were watching her now. John took an involuntary step forward, said her name. She seemed not to hear, never took her eyes from Llewelyn. Coming to a halt before him, she said loudly and very clearly, "My lord husband," sank down on the grass in a deep, submissive curtsy. It was more than a clever face-saving stratagem, it was an avowal of loyalty, of love. Llewelyn raised her up, looked for a long moment into her face, and then kissed her, kissed her as if they were alone, as if nothing mattered but that moment and the woman he held in his arms. Even he could not have said which meant more, that he was kissing John's daughter or kissing his wife. Joanna could hear the erratic hammering of his heart, could feel the tremor in his arms, and behind her closed eyelids she could still see the sun glinting on the blade of his sword. She touched her fingers to his throat; they came away bloodied, and she shuddered, raised up an kissed him again. Llewelyn smiled at her; she'd never seen his dark eyes so soft, s tender. And then she saw his smile change, saw it twist with triump She turned slowly and, like Llewelyn, looked at her father.
T I 345 John's face was burning with color, but his eyes were blank, utterly without emotion. Joanna could read nothing in them, not even recognition- Although she and her father were only some ten feet apart, it sudjgnly seemed to Joanna that the distance was widening with each silent second that passed. And then John had turned away, was walking rapidly toward the abbey, not looking back. Joanna watched, and there was a part of her that wanted nothing so much as to run after him, to try to make things right. But she did not uiove; she could not. She looked so desolate, so achingly vulnerable, that Llewelyn put his arm around her shoulders. She had, he thought, burned more than a bed this time; she had burned a bridge. He said nothing, but Joanna knew it, too. "He'll never forgive me," she said softly, "never." IT was dusk before John summoned Llewelyn to the monks' frater. He watched as the Welsh entered the dining hall, wait
ed until Llewelyn and Joanna approached the dais, and then said cuttingly, "A woman has no place in the council chamber. Have your wife await you outside." Joanna flushed, and John discovered that hurting her did nothing to ease his own hurt. She curtsied, looked first at her father and then at her husband, and John was swept with rage when Llewelyn nodded, as if he had the right to confirm a royal command. He saw now that the younger man had not washed away the dried blood on his throat, knew that was no less deliberately done than his own refusal to see Llewelyn for more than six hours, and at that moment there was nothing he would not have given to revoke Llewelyn's reprievesave only the life of his brother. The hall was crowded. John was flanked by the Earls of Chester and Pembroke, was accepting a wine cup from his cousin, William de Warenr>e/ Earl of Surrey. Llewelyn recognized most of the Normans gathered around the dais. Eustace de Vesci looked, as ever, like a man nursing a Perpetual toothache. Beside him stood his cousin Robert Fitz Walter, nose friendship with de Vesci was mystifying to those who knew them est' for Fitz Walter was a swaggering, jovial prankster and braggart, er'y unlike the aloof, sardonic de Vesci. Fitz Walter, whose estates , re primarily in Essex, looked no happier than de Vesci to be emoiled in John's vendetta against a Welsh Prince. But Llewelyn noted Cjat even the Marcher lords, like the Earl of Hereford and Richard de ^ e' did not appear to be savoring John's triumph. To Llewelyn, that ^arnatic and intriguing evidence of the growing estrangement be-
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