The Reckoning - 3 (55 page)

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the conversation into smoother waters. "Ellen is right," she said, entering into the game with zest. "And let's not forget the Earl of Pern_ broke. If that one got his dinner invitations only from those who fancied his company, he'd soon starve to death!"
"That holds true, as well, for the man by the hearth, John Giffard Wherever he belongs, it is not at my wedding," Ellen said, with a grimace of distaste, eliciting an unexpected response from Elizabeth.
"John Giffard belongs by rights in the deepest pits of Hellfire Everlasting,"
she said, so venomously that Blanche and Ellen looked at her in surprise.
"I have good reason to scorn that man," Ellen said curiously, "for he betrayed my father. But why do you detest him so, Elizabeth? Did he ever harm you?"
"No," Elizabeth said, "but that is more than his wife can say. That is her over there, standing behind him. I think you know her, Cousin EllenMaude
Clifford?"
"Good Heavens, yes," Ellen exclaimed. "Is that Maude? I'd never have recognized her! She was wed to my cousin, the Earl of Salisbury's son, widowed young, at seventeen or so, left with a little girl. We were never close, for she was at least twelve years older than I, but Salisbury was one of my father's most steadfast friends, and so I did see her from time to time. In fact, we are now kinswomen," Ellen said, explaining for Blanche's benefit that
Maude Clifford was a granddaughter of Llewelyn Fawr, and thus a first cousin to Llewelyn. "I had not heard that she'd wed John Giffard. Jesu, what a choice!"
"Believe me," Elizabeth said, "choice did not enter into it. He abducted her from her Dorsetshire manor, took her by force to his stronghold at
Brimpsfield, where he raped her and then found a biddable priest to marry them."
There was a silence then, as Blanche and Ellen gazed across the hall at Maude
Clifford, their pity heightened by the understanding that Maude's unhappy fate could have been theirs, too, for there was no shortage of men willing to gain a ricrf wife by John Giffard's methods Ellen slowly shook her head, thinking of her own great-grandmother, the legendary Eleanor of Aquitaine, who'd barely escaped two such abduction attempts herself. "And I suppose Maude felt too shamed to make a public protest," she said sadly, knowing how often that was the case, but knowing, too, that she would have denounced Giffard as long as she had breath in her body, and so, she suspected, would Blanche
"No," Elizabeth said, "he'd not yet broken her spirit, and she found a way to complain to the Kingfor all the good it did her. Our unde Henry was in his dotage, Edward was on crusade, and Maude's p'ea came to naught. Giffard denied taking her by force, claimed she v*as

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too ill t° come to court, and offered to pay a fine of three hundred marks for having wed her without the King's permission. By then she was already pregnant, and so that was that," Elizabeth concluded, with a very cynical shrug. F
"No wonder we heard nothing of this, Ellen." Blanche had been doing some rapid mental arithmetic. "If Henry was still King and Edward in the Holy Land, we're going back seven or eight years, and you and j vvere both living then in
France. I can see why Llewelyn could not help her, for his influence has never extended into England. But the Cliffords are a power in the Marches. What of her cousin, Roger Clifford? Could he do naught for her?"
"Roger was too busy stealing Culmington Manor from Maude's widowed mother, his own aunt. In fairness, there might have been some who'd have tried to help her, had they but known of her plight. But it was hushed up. My father just happened to hear about it because he was in Gloucestershire at that time."
"You must have been very young, Elizabeth. Yet you seem to remember it so well?"
"I was thirteen," Elizabeth said, "and oh, yes, I remember. You see, I was not happy living under my father's roof, and I was eager to wed, to have a husband and household of my own. Then I learned about Maude Clifford, and I learned, too, that marriage was not always the escape I'd fancied it to be. After that, I was not quite so eager to be a wife again."
Elizabeth paused, looked Ellen full in the face, and said, without the flicker of a smile, "But then, you and I are more fortunate than Maude Clifford. After all, we are the King's cousins, and we both know Edward would always act only in our best interests."
Ellen's mouth dropped open; so did Blanche's. They both stared at the younger woman, as astonished as if a butterfly had suddenly drawn Wood. After a moment, Ellen smiled. "I think," she said, "that you and I are going to get along very well, Cousin Elizabeth."
THE wedding guests would be talking for weeks to come about the delectable repast they were served that afternoon in Worcester Castle's S^at hall. For those lucky enough to be seated at the high table, the service was as excellent as the food. Dinner guests were expected to Provide their own knives, and to hack out their own plates from stale bread. But for the favored guests upon the dais, an ivory-handled knife ^as laid out for each diner, and the panter carefully cut their trenchers tr°m round loaves marked with holy crosses. The saltcellar, an intricately ^ptured silver nef, sails billowing, was carried with great ceremony

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notion so ludicrous that she soon had all within earshot laughing, b^ she kept a straight face, even when she claimed it looked just like j shrunken pitchfork. Afterward, she winked at Llewelyn, and he realize
<
That now he might win joys for hours, ^ With me the pillow for his head.
The song was a great success with the audience, although not with the Bishop of Worcester, who'd been to enough weddings to know the bawdiness was just beginning. And as he feared, the minstrel's next song was a rollicking account of a woman crusader, Maria Perez, who'd returned from the Holy Land laden with indulgences. Some were lost, some were stolen, but that, he explained, was because:
Maria's treasure chest was not too safe a place for thatindeed it could not be, For since the time the padlock was first broken, Her treasure chest has always been wide open.
After that, it was all downhill, at least in the Bishop's eyes. At times like this, his Church's teachings about the wages of sin seemed to ^

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n deaf ears. How else explain the laughter and lewd jokes, the cheers hen the minstrel announced he'd now sing everyone's favorite, "Under The Sun I Ride
Along."
The Bishop was all too familiar with the song, which had been written, God forgive him, by a highborn lord, a Count of Poitou, kinsman both to Edward and
Ellen through his granddaughter, Eleanor of Aquitajne, but a man burning in
Hell lo these many years past; of that, the Bishop was sure, for the Count's life had been as lascivious as his music. But the minstrel was already into the song, a ribald tale of a knight who'd pretended to be mute, thus duping two lust-filled ladies into thinking it was safe to dally with him, for "Such sport as we'll devise vvith him will ne'er be known." They tested him first, set a savage tomcat to raking its claws along his back, but he made no sound, although "keen could I feel its talons ripping down my flank." Convinced, they then took him off to bed, where for more than a week, he sinned lustily and often, "a hundred four score times and eight," until "a woeful state they left me in, with harness torn and broken blade." When he recovered, he sent his squire back to the women, "And tit for tat, ask them in memory of me, to kill that cat!"
For reasons that eluded the Bishop altogether, people never failed to find that last verse hilarious, and he knew that for the rest of the night, men would be crying out at odd intervals, "Kill that cat!" convulsing themselves by their own drunken wit.
Never did his sheep stray so far from the fold as when they flocked to weddings. Marriage was a Sacrament, yet these festivities more often resembled pagan rites than Christian nuptials. The Church frowned upon dancing, and yet they whirled from one carol to another until they reeled. The Church exhorted newly wed couples to refrain from consummating their marriage for the first few days, yet he'd never known a single case in which they did. And the
Church's attempts to discourage the bedding-down revelries met with obstinate resistance. No state was as exalted as virginity; when a woman lost it, even in wedlock, she was diminished, and to turn that loss into an excuse for drunken, shameful debauchery was truly deplorable. But the worst of it was that he'd have a part in it, for he'd have to bless the bed ere they could sin.
EINION had been watching Llewelyn closely throughout dinner, and he'd ^en heartened by what he saw. He still wanted, though, to be sure he *as right, and he seized the first opportunity after the meal to have a tew private moments with Llewelyn. But they were interrupted almost at once by Hugh de
Whitton.
"My lord Llewelyn, may I have a word with you? I just heard a

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disturbing rumor, that King Edward plans to arrest all the Jews in En gland, charge them with coin clipping. I was wondering if you kne\v anything about it?"
"No, Hugh, I do not. I am not the best one to ask about this, for there are no
Jews in Wales. But I do know that Edward loathes thein When he forbade them to act as money-lenders, it was inevitable that some of them would start clipping coins, for how else could they UVe? So it does not bode well for them, the innocent or the guilty. You're thinking of the Bristol money-lender, the one who helped you?"
Hugh nodded unhappily. "My lord, do you think you might. . . ?"
"All right," Llewelyn said indulgently, "I'll see what I can find out for you.
But for now, look about you, Hugh. What do you see? People enjoying themselves. That is what you are supposed to do at a wedding, lad. Your cares will not go away; you'll find they're more loyal than greyhounds. So put them aside just for the night, go forth and have fun."
Hugh grinned. "Diolch yn fawr," he said, in very passable Welsh, and hied off to join the circle forming for the carol.
"What about you, Llewelyn? I hope you mean to follow your own advice?"
"As it happens, Einion, I do." Llewelyn smiled unexpectedly. "What better way to vex our royal host?"
THERE was at least one guest at the wedding, though, who was not following
Llewelyn's advice. Caitlin was not having any fun at all. Never had she felt so out of place. A fourteen-year-old girl was not likely to attract much notice in a gathering of adults, and Caitlin had the additional misfortune to look even younger than she was. Moreover, all her anxieties had come flooding back with her first glimpse of Llewelyn's wife. Ellen was so fair; what man would not be bedazzled by her? And she could not help wondering if there would still be room for her in her uncle's new life.
But these misgivings paled in comparison with the jolt of panic she experienced now, watching in dismay as the man she'd sought so desperately to avoid strode purposefully toward her, cutting off escape.
"Caitlin? Do you not think," Davydd said, "that it is time we talked?"
IT had been a long time since Maude Clifford had enjoyed herself so much. It had been a long time since anyone had treated her as if she truly mattered.
She'd been shy at first, not sure why the Princess of

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ufales and the Countess of Lancaster should be showing such interest j, her.
But Ellen and Blanche were skilled practitioners of their society's social graces, and they soon put Maude at ease. She blossomed under jhe attention, reminiscing with Ellen about mutual friends, telling them proudly about her young daughters. There was only one awkward moment, when Ellen impulsively extended an invitation to Llewelyn's Christmas court. Maude's smile seemed lit by a hundred candles as she accepted, but almost at once they dimmed, and she said in a voice suddenly dulled and flat that her husband would want her at
Brimpsfield for Christmas. Ellen looked into the older woman's face, and then heard herself saying that he would be welcome, too, for as she would later tell a bemused Blanche, at that moment she'd wanted only to see Maude's smile come back, even if it meantas it diddining with the Devil.
"But ought you not to ask your lord husband first?" Maude asked anxiously.
"Your offer was most generous, but I would understand if"
"There is no need to fret about that, Cousin Maude. You are most welcome at my husband's court, for I am sure Llewelyn would not mind if I speak for him in this," Ellen said, with such blithe certainty that Maude could not help wincing, envious of Ellen's innocence, but knowing, too, how dangerous it could be. As she started to speak, though, she saw that Ellen's attention was wandering; she was staring across the hall. "I'll be right back," she said abruptly. "I think my husband's little niece is in need of rescue."
DAVYDD was surprised that he was encountering such resistance. "Do you not even want to hear my side of it, lass?"
"No," Caitlin muttered, refusing to meet his eyes. All her life she'd been taught that she owed respect to her elders, and those lessons came back to haunt her now, so that her anger and confusion were cornpounded by guilt, too.
But when Davydd touched her arm, she stiffened, spat out in shaken defiance, "I love Uncle Llewelyn, more than anyone!"
"Well and good. I do not begrudge him your love. But he is not your father, Caitlin, I am."
She felt the tears coming then, hot enough to burn. Her mouth contorted, but the voice that filled her ears was not her own. "There you are, Lady Caitlin!"
And the next thing she knew, there was a hand upon her elbow and a stranger was sweeping her out onto the dance floor, smiling over his shoulder at
Davydd. "You do not mind, do you, my lord, if I borrow her? She did promise me this next dance!"
The hall was still blurring for Caitlin; she blinked until the young

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Englishman came into focus, tall and flaxen haired and faintly familia^ "I am sorry," she said, surrepititiously brushing the wetness from het cheeks. "Do I
know you?"
"Of course you do," Hugh said, thinking that she looked like a bedraggled kitten. Poor little lass. "Do you not remember? We met on a Welsh mountain road, and after you begged a ride back to Cricieth we agreed to dance at your uncle's wedding. No? You are sure? Well
*^ then, if I may ask now . . . Lady Caitlin, will you dance this carol with
' me?"
"I do remember you now," she said, but she was thinking that she'd never seen eyes so blue. "I would indeed like to dance with you."
DAVYDD'S edgy mood was not improved by Hugh's meddlesome chivalry. He felt no real surprise when he later spotted Hugh and Caitlin on the dais with Ellen, for he well knew whose lapdog Hugh was. So his new sister-in-law was already throwing down the gauntlet. Had Llewelyn confided in her? Yes, he'd wager she knew. He alone did not. By now Davydd was thoroughly frustrated, for he'd had no luck whatsoever in finding out what sort of wedding surprise Edward had sprung upon his brother. He'd known something was amiss for hours, ever since his first look at Llewelyn's face in the priory cloisters. And once he concluded that Llewelyn had been stabbed in the back, it was easy enough to identify the suspect. But so far he'd been thwarted at every turn. He'd had no chance at all to confront Llewelyn directly, for his brother was doing a masterful job of keeping him at a distance, n^ver so obvious as to be conspicuous, but always just out of reach. So he'd tackled their uncle Einion, only to be met with a blank stare, a shrug. He'd tried Goronwy next, and had finally approached Dai ab Einion, Llewelyn's new Seneschal, who distrusted him even more than Tudur had, if that was possible. But they'd closed ranks against him, treating him like an outsider, like an Englishman.
Looking about for Elizabeth, he at last located her by the open hearth, and as he drew near, he saw that the man engaging her in animated conversation was
Goronwy. Coming up quietly behind them, he said coldly, "Stop flirting with my wife."
Elizabeth looked startled, for he had never shown a possessive streak before.
But Goronwy did not seem flustered, and as Davydd slipped his arm about her waist, she realized that he was jesting. "Take care, Elizabeth," he said, "for this man could not be trusted with a novice nun, much less a tempting morsel like you. And I know whereof I speak, for I was an eye-witness to many of his unseemly escapades.'
"What he neglects to tell you, Lady Elizabeth," Goronwy parried/
"is that I was merely following in his footsteps. Indeed, some of his exploits have since passed into folklore, amongst those too depraved to know any better."
To a casual ear, it might have sounded like the usual barbed male banter, but
Elizabeth sensed undercurrents just beneath the surface, and remembered that
Davydd and Goronwy had once been friends.
"Goronwy was once a veritable patron saint for sinners, Elizabeth. But these days he has moved on to greater things, showing off a sleight of hand that even Merlin might envy. Not only has he been appointed to act as a justice in
Edward's new commission, he has agreed to serve as bailiff in one of the cantrefs Edward took from Llewelyn."
"Why is that so surprising?" Goronwy said coolly. "Where can I do more good?
Whom do you think the Welsh would rather turn to for help? Meor someone like your renegade friend, Rhys ap Gruffydd?"
"We're not talking about Rhys; we're talking about you. The truly amazing aspect of all this, Elizabeth, is that he has somehow managed to stay in
Llewelyn's favor. Other men get fevers; my brother, bless him, gets suspicions. So suppose you tell us how you do it, Goronwy? How is it that