Here Be Dragons - 1 (102 page)

questions so full of risk as a seemingly simple 'why.'"
Joanna had been listening to her daughter's outpouring in astonishment. "Is that how you truly saw me, Elen? As controlled, serene, sure of myself? God in
Heaven!" She caught Elen's arm, turned the younger woman to face her. "Elen, look at me. Truly look at me. I was a King's bastard. Under our law, I had no claims to anything, least of all to my father's name. My father loved me, but he could not legitimize my position at his court; I was there on sufferance and all knew it. And then at fourteen, I became a foreign wife, the English bnde, the outsider once more."
Elen's eyes had widened. "I never knew you felt that way, Mama. You always seemed at home in Wales."
"That is what I am trying to tell you, Elen. I learned at a very early age to hide my fears, to appear what I was not Pride, no less than charity, covers a multitude of sins. I was very fortunate, found with your father what had been denied me in John's world, and in time I did gain greater assurance; the poise was not entirely pretense. But scrape away the surface gloss, dig through the glaze to the raw clay, and you'll find a little girl forbidden to play with the other village children, a little girl who'd lie for hours in the heather above Middleham Castle, wanting °nly to belong.

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"And that is what I wanted to give you, a sense of belonging You were so impulsive, Elen, so so rash I did try to curb your spirits, to teach you to adapt to the world you'd one day have to live in, as the \vife of a Norman lord I did want you to conform, I cannot deny it And I was disappointed when you would not But only because I loved you so much, because I feared for you
My darling, you seemed so heartrendmgly vulnerable, so open to hurt I wanted to spare you that if I could to show you how to construct a woman's defenses, how to make castle walls out of courtesy, to distance yourself whilst still preserving the inner keep, the secret self that is Elen "
Elen was blinking back tears "I daresay you're right, Mama " She gestured toward a tiny bird skittering along the water's edge "Life probably would be easier for me if I had protective coloring, if I could blend into my background like that little sandling " She smiled tremulously "But I'm not a sandling, Mama, am more akin to the magpie, I fear, curious and conspicuous and too venturesome for my own good1"
Joanna stepped forward, touched her hand to Elen's cheek "As it happens," she said, "magpies have ever been one of my favorite birds," and Elen came into her arms, clung tightly
Joanna was reluctant to end their embrace, kept her arm around Elen's waist
"Passing strange, that you should have drawn that analogy to the sandling, for your father once made a surprisingly similar cornparison He, too, talked of protective coloring, told me I cloaked myself in the muted earth tones of a wellborn Norman lady But he knew it was camouflage, knew me so well "
He'd never been taken in by her act Right from the first he'd seen through it, had seen the frightened little girl behind the bridal silk, the brittle smile
Joanna's eyes filled with tears "Elen Elen, I've made such a bloody botch of things Tell me the truth How badly have I hurt Llewelyn7 I do not mean the man, that I know But what of the Prince7 How much damage have I done7"
"Not as much damage as you fear, Mama I'll not deny the potential was there for disaster, that you threw a burning brand into a sun-dried field But Papa acted to contain the fire, seems to have quenched it in time Not so surprising, at least not to anyone who knows Papa He holds all Wales in the palm of his hand, has for nigh on fifteen years now It would take a brave man to challenge him, an even braver one to mock him Mayhap if he'd showed weakness but he hanged Will de Braose at high noon before eight hundred witnesses Men will remember that, Mama "
"And Davydd7"
Elen did not pretend to misunderstand "Again, the answer is n as much damage as you think or as there could have been Papa n

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made a point of keeping Davydd close by his sideconspicuously so yVhen he met the English Chancellor in Shrewsbury last week, Davydd ^as with him, and will be with him again when he meets with Maelgwn next month It is an effective strategy, Mama, will do much to discourage speculation, to still all but the most vicious tongues "
"I would to God I could believe that "
"I'm not offering false comfort, Mama Papa is a man well able to take care of himself, to look to his own interests He was never a defenslve battle commander, preferred to take the war into enemy territory And that is what he has done He is no longer calling himself Prince of Gwynedd, has begun to make use of a new titlePrince of Aberffraw and Lord of Eryri "
After more than twenty years in Wales, Joanna at once grasped the significance of the change Aberffraw was the ancient capital of Gwynedd, and in Welsh lore, the Prince of Aberffraw held a position of dominance Although he was shrewd enough to do it by indirection, with a subtlety to allay the suspicions of his
English neighbors and the jealousies of his Welsh allies, Llewelyn was, in effect, claiming for himself the title of Prince of Wales
Joanna bit her lip "How very like him that is," she said, and there was in her voice such a poignant blend of pride and pain that Elen felt as if their roles had suddenly been reversed, she found herself yearning to comfort Joanna as a mother might comfort a hurt and helpless child
"Let's go back to the manor, Mama You look so careworn, you've not been sleeping, have you7"
"Not much," Joanna admitted She whistled for Topaz and they began to walk along the shore "We'd best wake Ifan up ere we go, I think he might be discomfited if we just went off and left him Tell me about Gwladys and Ralph de Mortimer Were they wed as planned7"
"No, the wedding was delayed But it has been rescheduled for next month "
Elen's eyes rested pensively upon her mother's face She'd not exaggerated, the strain was telling upon Joanna She sighed, knowing what she had now to say would only lacerate an overburdened conscience even more
"I know no other way than to say this straight out, Mama Papa and the de
Braose family have decided to honor the plight troth "
Joanna stared at her daughter in disbelief "Davydd Davydd is st'll going to wed Will's daughter7"
Elen nodded "Papa wrote to Eva de Braose and her brother Pembroke, told them that whilst he'd had no choice but to put Will to death, he was still willing to consider a marital alliance Will's widow and "ernbroke showed themselves to be no less pragmatic than Papa Not °nty did they want the marriage to take place, they wanted it to be

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~;ble despite Isabella's tender years. The wedcelebrated as ^"ggg* M^aelmas week.~
ding is to be "eia ai/-r s/ but the sun still burned against her lids
Joanna close a ner iey ^^ ^^ Uewdyn bear to do thig? HQ^ dried the tears on ner en ^^ ^ ^ ^.^ Qf wm? ,/And Dayydd could he look at isaoeua w
. . . he's willing- , j In t j think because he wants so
"Yoc Mama, it seems "c *° r les, ivia were to SUggest he wed with a mermaid, I
much to please lapa. 11 r scouring the beaches for one. But there's daresay Davy*1 wou ofttimes misjudge Davydd. He's more like more to it than mat. ic y ^ ^ differences more of style than subPapa than men naive, u knowg wha{ he wantg_ stance. Davyad knows ^J^^ and obviously tha^s Bue^ Davy
<; tpn-vear-old daughter. Isa
P who sieved for himhis ten-year-old daughter. Isa There was one wno gr rictiye boundaries, a life of absolutes and bella's was a world 01 of,;ntro^v
Ovarfino Hi^HnlinPs laid down
There was one who grieved for himhis ten-year-old daught
- -i.:.Trt V-./-.nr-»^l-jT-icic a lifo r^f aHcr»lnt bella's was a wor d1 of ^ ^ stringent/ exacting discipiines laid down order, subject at an nme Isabella had learned obedience at an by Eva de Braose. A timid

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early age, but she had also learned to fear her mother. Eva was thf bedrock to which their family clung, anchor and mainstay, and sh< ruled her small domain with a tight reinin Will's absences. For intf this cloistered citadel of enforced serenity, Will would burst like a flam ing comet, trailing the real world in his wake like celestial vapors. H< invariably disrupted daily routine, unsettled the servants, and took ma licious pleasure in disobliging his coolly competent wife. Isabellaquit* simply and unknowinglyhe bedazzled.
To a child nurtured upon reprimands, starved for affection, it was not difficult to unearth evidence of love in Will's benign neglect, to mag nify his careless kindnesses to epic proportions. Isabella treasured his smiles, the small gifts he would occasionally bestow, kept a lock of his bright blond hair in her birthday locket. His death had devastated her and her grieving was all the greater for its secret, unsanctioned nature That her mother did not mourn Will, the child well knew, and fear made her mute, for she could not risk Eva's disapproval. Now that Will was dead, Eva's favor was all the more precious, was all she had.
Eva had spared her eldest daughter none of the sordid circumstances of Will's death, but that account was too brutal, too degrading for the child to accept.
In self-defense, she set about weaving Eva's ugl) facts into a softer pattern, one that reflected the colors of romance and high tragedy. All the minstrel tales that so enthralled her celebrated the splendors of illicit passions, celebrated star-crossed lovers like Arthur's Queen and the brave Lancelot, Tristan and the fair Iseult. So it must have been for Papa and the Lady
Joanna, she decided, and she found comfort in casting Will as the gallant knight who died for love, Joanna as the tragic beauty who'd loved him as Eva did not. And then her mother called her into the solar at Abergavenny Castle, told her that the plight troth still held, that she must wed Llewelyn's son at summer's end.
ALTHOUGH Eva de Braose had no qualms about marrying her daughter to a son of the man responsible for her husband's death, she did feel it would not be seemly for her to attend the wedding. As the Earl of Pembroke was in Brittany, it fell upon his young wife Nell and Gilbert, another of Eva's brothers, to escort Isabella to Cricieth.
Nell slowed her mare, dropped back to ride at Isabella's side. "We're but a few miles from Cricieth Castle, will be there by noon." Isabella's was by nature a pale, delicate complexion, but it showed now such a waxy whiteness that Nell grew alarmed. Poor little bird, she thought, and sought for words of cheer. "I shall be your aunt twice over c°me the morrow, for not only is my lord husband brother to your lady Bother, the Lord Davydd is my nephew.
Passing strange, I know, for he

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is a full seven years older than I! But he is a good man, Isabella, will treat you kindly." Would he, though? How could she be sure? In truth, she did not know Davydd well at all, could only wonder what had motivated him to make such a marriage as this.
Isabella swallowed. "Cricieth ... is this where my father died?"
"No, lass. That was at Aber."
"He's buried there ... at Aber?"
"Yes," Nell said, all the while heaping mental curses upon the head of her sister-in-law. Whatever ailed Eva? Had she told the child nothing?
"Aunt Nell. . . will they let me visit Papa's grave?"
"Jesu!" Nell turned sharply in the saddle, stared at the child. Merciful
Christ, the lass loved her father! Damn Eva de Braose for this! How could she not know? Or was it that she did not care? "Yes, sweeting, I am sure they will," she said hastily, making a silent vow that she'd somehow see to it.
"I dared not ask Mama about her . . . about the Lady Joanna. Aunt Nell, will you tell me what befell her? Will she . . . will she be at Cricieth?"
Nell was getting in over her depth. She ought never to have agreed to this.
She may be the child's aunt, but she was also Joanna's sister. At least, though, she could reassure the lass on this one point. "No, dearest, Joanna is not at Cricieth. You need not see her, not ever, for she has been sent away in disgrace."
"Oh ..." An involuntary sound, a quavering sigh that communicated to Nell the unlikeliest of emotions, disappointment. Nell subsided into a baffled silence.
She pitied Isabella, but was perplexed by her, too. She'd never known her own father, for John had died before her first birthday. But she had tried to imagine how she'd feel if she were being forced to marry into a family responsible for her brother Henry's death, and that only showed her how deep and divergent were the differences between her and Isabella de Braose, for she would never have agreed to the wedding, would have had to be dragged kicking and screaming to the altar.
She glanced reflectively at Isabella's profile. A pity the lass did not have more pluck. A lamb to the slaughter, in truth, and what could she do to help?
"Isabella, I'm going to speak right plainly. As you're to be Davydd's wife, all you can do now is seek to make the best of it."
"Will they ..." Isabella's voice was tremulous, faltering. "Will they hate me?"
"No, of course not," Nell said, somewhat impatiently, for that was a question she'd never have asked. The hatred would have been hers. But she could sense in Isabella only fear.

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As they entered the great hall, Isabella balked suddenly, and Nell slipped a supportive arm around her waist. "When we reach the dais, remember to make your curtsy. Lord Davydd is the one at Lord Llewelyn's right, and those are
Davydd's sisters, the Lady Elen, Countess of Huntingdon, and the Lady Gwladys de Mortimer. Come forward now, Isabella, and greet them." Still Isabella did not move; she was trembling so violently that Nell could only hope she'd not shame them by fainting. She murmured soothing words of reassurance, and when they had no effect, she hissed, "Isabella, show some spirit!" And that worked;
Isabella had been taught unquestioning obedience. She followed Nell toward the dais, clinging to her arm.
It did not surprise Llewelyn that Isabella was so fair, for both Will and Eva de Braose had flaxen hair. Still, the sight of the child's blonde braids triggered a sudden, sharp memory. He could see again her father standing on the gallows, the sun gilding his hair with a silvery sheen. He'd never looked so young, so vital and alive as he did then, in his last moments of life. And as Llewelyn had watched, all he could see was that blond head cradled in
Joanna's lap. He shook off the past with difficulty, moved down the steps of the dais.
"Look at me, child," he said quietly. Isabella did as he bade. To his relief, she did not have Will's smoke-grey eyes; hers were a soft misty blue. "You are very welcome at my court, Isabella. I hope in time you'll come to feel at home with us." But his words sank like stones into the depths of the child's fear, left no impression, not even a ripple.
Davydd had no better luck. He was not particularly at ease with children, and found himself at a loss now. Feeling rather foolish, he murmured conventional words of welcome, handed Isabella her bride's gift, an opal pendant set in silver; it might better, he thought, have been a doll. Isabella mumbled an all but inaudible "Thank you." She did not even unfasten the velvet wrapping until prompted by Nell.
"Look, Isabella, how lovely it is. Here, let me clasp it about your neck."
Llewelyn was faintly amused by Nell's purposeful, take-charge manner, so at variance with her ethereal blonde beauty. For she was a beauty, as young as she was, was very much Isabelle d'Angouleme's daughter. But he could see nothing in her of John or Joanna. Never had he been so aware how fleering time was, how unfairly and heartrendlngly finite, looking now at Nell and realizing she was the same age as Joanna at the time of their wedding.
"Should you like to see the chamber made ready for you, Isabella?"
suggest^ and Isabella nodded quickly. She was, he suspected, so anxious to escape their company that she'd have acquiesced no less ea-