The Reckoning - 3 (85 page)

"Are you thirsty, my lord?" It was all he could offer, and he was thankful when Llewelyn nodded, so desperate was he to do something for his Prince, anything. He had no wineskin or flask, but after several moments of hurried searching, he found a small stream amidst a grove of alder trees. Dipping
Rhosier's helmet into the icy water, he hastened back to Llewelyn. After he poured water into his cupped hands, Llewelyn managed to swallow a little. But when Trevor looked again at the bandage, the stain had spread, and he was unable to choke back a sob.
Llewelyn's lashes flickered, his eyes searching the boy's tearstreaked face.
"Do not grieve so, lad," he said huskily, "for there are far worse ways to die. Think of Simon . . ."
He saw that Trevor did not understand, but talking was too much °f an effort, and he could not explain that he was thinking of Simon de Montfort, who'd died knowing that his dreams for reform died with him on Evesham Field. But his war would go on without him. Almighty
5°d would not forsake Wales. Never had his people been so united. They'd mourn his death, but they'd not lose heart. They'd hold fast for °avydd.
It was easier than he'd ever expected, accepting that his wound was °rtal.
There was almost a relief in letting go, in knowing that he'd °ne aU he could, that it was now up to others, up to Davydd. No, he

532
was far luckier than Simon. He left no grieving widow, no sons who might suffer for his sins. How Simon must have feared for Nell, for his family as he rode out to die. But Ellen awaited him at God's Throne, and Gwenllian was a little lass, safe as a son might not be, whilst Wales . . . Wales was Davydd's now.
It was becoming more and more difficult for Llewelyn to focus his thoughts.
The pain was not as intense as he'd have imagined it would be, but he was cold, so very cold, even though sweat had broken out on his face and throat.
Trevor was saying his name, entreating him not to die, but he was hearing other voices now, for his dead were close at hand. He was drifting again.
Making a great effort, he said weakly, "Tell Davydd ..."
Trevor leaned over. "What, my lord? Tell him what?"
"I commend Gwenllian to his care," Llewelyn said, very low. "And Caitlin . .
." He'd had her for a lifetime, only fair to give her back. Davydd must look after them both, as he must look after Wales. A great burden, a great trust.
God All-merciful, let him prove worthy of it. "All in his keeping now ..."
"I will tell him, my lord, I promise. Is there ... is there nothing else I can do for you?" the boy pleaded, and Llewelyn nodded.
"Pray for me, lad," he said, and Trevor sobbed again. He had no crucifix, and
Llewelyn's sword, which held a holy relic within its hilt, had been taken by the English soldiers. But he remembered then that Llewelyn's dagger hilt was fashioned in the shape of the Holy Cross, and he unsheathed it, put it in
Llewelyn's hand, and closed his fingers around the haft.
"Dear Lord God and Father Everlasting, into Thy Hands and those of Thy Blessed
Son, now and forever I commit to Thee the body, soul, and spirit of Thy servant, Llewelyn. Grant him remission of all his sins, Lord . . ."
Trevor's tears were flowing faster now. He drew a strangled breath, and then his head jerked up sharply. "Oh, Christ Jesus, the English . . . they are coming back!"
"Go, then, and go quickly, whilst you still can!"
Trevor shook his head vehemently. "I'll not leave you!"
"Trevor, I command you!"
But the youth shook his head again. "My lord, I... I cannot!'
"What is the worst they can do, cheat me of a few final breaths? If you love me, go and go now. Would you make me watch you die?'
Still, Trevor hovered beside him, in his face so much anguished indecision that Llewelyn feared he'd not obey, even now. Only at "i last possible moment did he snatch up Llewelyn's hand, press it to rus lips, and disappear into the darkness.

533
ft Tears of relief welled in Llewelyn's eyes. The sounds were growing louder; he heard the jangling of spurs, the snorting of horses, and then the wind brought to him the voices.
"But why do you think it was a lord that Stephen struck down, Rob? He said the man's shield was plain, not emblazoned."
"Mayhap not, but Stephen showed me that stallion. In all my born days, I've rarely seen a finer animal, one even a king would not scorn to ride. And there was a garnet set in the man's sword hilt, one that seemed real to these eyes.
He must be a lord of some sort, and at the least, worth a second look."
The first voice was eager now. "Think you that he might have a gold ring, then?"
"You can be sure I did not ride back to see that he gets a Christian burial!"
There was laughter at that, and then they were there, for from the corner of his eye, Llewelyn could see the snow kicked up by their horses.
"Did I not tell you this was the place? Look, there is the body!" A horse was reined in a few feet away, and then a soldier was bending over Llewelyn.
Reaching down, he grasped Llewelyn's wrist and started to strip off the glove, only to recoil suddenly. 'Jesii, he is still alive!"
"They're a tough breed, God rot them. Send him to Hell, and lef s get on with this."
The first soldier rose to his feet, unsheathing his sword. He was, Llewelyn now saw, quite young, only a few years older than Trevor. He brought the sword up, then slowly lowered it again. "He's already dying, Rob."
"If you are not as squeamish as a maid! Get out of the way, then, and I'll do it."
Someone had a lantern. Night-blinded, Llewelyn averted his eyes from its glare, and braced himself for the sword's rending thrust.
But it did not come. Instead, it was a voice that cut through the darkness, amazed, urgent. "Rob, wait! I know him! Mother of God, it's their Prince!"
"You're daft!"
"I tell you if s him! I've seen him often enough, for certes, for did ' not serve my lord de Mortimer for twenty years and more? Just last year he came to
Radnor Castle, signed that pact with my lord, and as ^ose to me then as he is now. It is Llewelyn ap Gruffydd, no mistake!"
"I think Fulk is right, Rob. I've seen the man, too, and by God, it a°cs look like him!" There was a moment of awed silence, and then
"ey all began laughing and talking at once, unable to believe their good r*Une. They were made men, every one of them, for no reward would

534
be too much for those who could deliver Llewelyn ap Gruffydd into the King's hands.
Robert Body had the command, and began, then, to snap out orders. "Get a few blankets from your bedrolls. Fulk, you and Harry start cutting down some branches, for we're going to need a litter. The King's joy will be all the greater if we can keep him alive."
They scattered, under his prodding. The first youth claimed the lantern, raised it so he could look into Llewelyn's face. "Is it true?" he asked. "Are you the Welsh Prince?"
Llewelyn labored to draw enough air into his lungs. "I am Llewelyn, son of
Gruffydd, son of Llewelyn Fawr, Prince of Wales and Lord of Eryri," he said, softly but distinctly, "and I have urgent need of a priest."
The young Englishman seemed momentarily nonplussed. "I'd fetch one," he said hesitantly, "if it were up to me." Kneeling in the snow, he unhooked his flask, supported Llewelyn's head while he drank. "There will be a doctor at the castle," he said, and then, surprisingly, "I'm Martin."
"Thank you, Martin," Llewelyn whispered, and drank again. He was almost amused by their solicitude, their determination to keep him from dying. He could envision no worse fate than to be handed over, alive and helpless, to Edward.
But he did not fear it, for he knew it would not come to pass. He'd be dead ere they reached Buellt Castle, mayhap much sooner. He measured his life now not in hours or even moments, but in breaths, and he would answer for his sins to Almighty God, not the English King.
Another of the soldiers was coming back. "Here, Martin, put this about him."
Martin took the blanket. "He's in a bad way, Fulk," he murmured, as if
Llewelyn ought not to hear. Fulk picked up the lantern, and swore under his breath at the sight of the blood-soaked snow.
"Christ," he said, and then, to Llewelyn, almost fiercely, "You hold on, hear?
We're going to get you a doctor, for the King wants you alive!"
Llewelyn gazed up at him, marveling. "Indeed," he said, "God forbid that I
should disoblige the English King by dying." It was only when he saw that Fulk and Martin were uncomprehending that he realized he'd lapsed into Welsh. But he made no effort to summon back his store of Norman-French. A man ought to die with his own language echoing in his ears.
The English soldiers were discussing his wound in troubled tones. But their voices seemed to be coming now from a distance, growing fainter and fainter until they no longer reached Llewelyn. He heard only the slowing sound of his heartbeat, and he opened his eyes, looked up at the darkening sky.

535
"Well," Fulk said fmaJUTly, "we have to toy. You watch over him whilst I help get that litter p~i^t together.'' As he swung the lantern about its flickering light fell across ^Llewelyn's face, and he stiffened, then bent swiftly for a closer look at fc^he Welsh Prince. Blood was trickling from the corner of
Llewelyn's nT.«=r,uth/ and the dark eyes staring up at Fulk were blind. Fulk reached haasstily for Llewelyn's throat, fumbling to find a pulse.
"Hellfire and furies!" Straightening up, he shook his head in disgust. "Too late, Martin. He is dead/ damn him."
Trevor had retreated or^y as far as a copse of trees on the far side of the clearing. Fulk's words, struck at his heart, and he jammed his fist up against his mouth, bit do-^vn upon his glove to keep from oy^g out His throat closed up, his ctx^st heaved, and so great was his grief that he honestly thought he mis^t die of it. Snatches of conversation came to him, but he did not really
^eaT them/ his ears still ringing with Fulk's blunt, brutal avowal, "He is dead."
The English soldiers w^re keenly disappointed, but Robert Body now reminded them that Llewelyn ap Gruffydd's death was sure to please the King mightily, e>^-^n if he was cheated of the chance to take his enemy alive. He would -fce open-handed, with bounty enough for all who'd played a part in t*-ie Weish
Prince's downfall. They nodded among themselves, cheering -up as they realized he spoke the truth, and when Trevor looked up agai^ he discovered that they were searching Llewelyn's body.
If Trevor had almost gi^en himself away in his grieving, he was even more endangered by KS.S rage. As he watcned them treat his lord so callously, rolling him ovc^ ^ the snow, stripping off his hauberk, and ripping his clothing Ln their hunt for valuables, Trevor's hatred swept him to the very brink o^ reason. He grasped a low-hanging branch, held on to it as if it were an ^nchor, while he fought back his fury that these English hellspawn wox^Jd dare to lay hands upon his Prince.
Their search was productive, and they gathered around to examine the results:
two gold rings a»^d a silver mantle clasp, Llewelyn's privy seal, a small wooden comb, a lock of reddish-blond hair tied with a scrap of ribbon, a dagger with an iVOry hilt, and a letter in Welsh. But it occurred then to
Martin that they had a problem.
"How are we going to ge?t him back, Rob? We do not have an extra horse."
"So? We have to prove l-^ identity, but we do not need his body or that." And he strode over to Llewelyn, drawing his sword from its scabbard.
As Trevor watched, aghast, the blade came up, started on its down*a swing. He averted his eyes just in time, and thus spared himself

536
the sight of Robert Body lifting his Prince's head up by the hair, brandishing it like a trophy for the others to see. "Take it over to the stream, Fulk, and wash away all this blood. I'd not have thought he had any more to lose!"
Trevor saw none of this. Crouching close to the ground, he wrapped his arms around his drawn-up knees, and wept, silently and hopelessly. Soon afterward, the soldiers rode off, for they had momentous news to deliver. Getting stiffly to his feet, Trevor stumbled out into the clearing. They'd left a blanket behind, blood-drenched by the decapitating. Trevor reached for it, began to drape it over Llewelyn's body, taking great care. By the time it was done to his satisfaction, he'd gotten blood all over himself, too, but he did not mind, for it was his lord's blood. Sitting down in the snow beside the body, he said, "I'll not leave you, my lord. I'll not leave you."
And that was how Goronwy found them, long after the battle of Uanganten had been fought and lost.
37
DOLWYDDELAN, WALES
December 1282
IT pains me to say this, my lord, but I am beginning to believe you might be cheating."
About to reach for the dice, Davydd gave his wife a look of wounded innocence.
"Why ever should you think that?"
"I daresay it is just my suspicious nature. But this wanton game was your idea, the dice are yours, and after four throws, you've yet to forfeit so much as a belt buckle, whilst I am sitting here clad only in my chemise."
Davydd shrugged. "Clearly," he said, "God is on my side." Getting off the bed, he stretched, then suggested, "Whilst I fetch us some wine, you can be deciding what to give up next."

537
Elizabeth reclined against the pillows, watching as he crossed to the table.
"Davydd, have you written to Llewelyn yet . . . about our baby?"
"No, not yet."
"Dear heart, you cannot wait much longer. When Llewelyn left, I'd not begun to show yet. But I'm now past my fourth month. If you do not tell him soon, you risk him finding out from others."
"I know," Davydd conceded. "And I'll tell him, I will. I just have not got around to it yet."
Elizabeth let it go, for Davydd would balk all the more if pushed. She knew full well why he was so loath to tell Llewelyn about her pregnancy; it was bound to remind Llewelyn of all he'd lost. She only wished Davydd could admit as much. But if he could not, so be it. She'd long ago learned that she could not hope to change him, could only love him as he was. Fortunately, she thought, that was not difficult.
Davydd was coming back now with a brimming cup. Passing it to her, he said, "Well? I believe you still have a debt to pay, cariad. You are going to honor it, I trust?"
Elizabeth smiled demurely. "I always pay my debts," she said, gesturing toward the foot of the bed, where her shoes, surcote, and blue wool gown were neatly piled. "I shall forfeit my stockings." She was reaching for the hem of her chemise when Davydd caught her hand.
"Let me, my lady fair," he said, with such mock gallantry that Elizabeth could not help giggling. Putting the wine cup down on the floor, she lay back, closing her eyes. His hand lingered on her ankle, moved up toward her knee, then began an unhurried exploration of her thigh.
"You have over-shot your target," she pointed out. "My stockings are gartered at the knee."
"I know," he murmured. "But have you never heard of a scouting expedition?"
Elizabeth burst out laughing. "Ah, Davydd, I do adore you!"