Here Be Dragons - 1 (11 page)

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several feet away. Llewelyn unfastened a pouch at his belt, sent it spinning through the air. Martin caught it deftly, tucked it away in his tunic For a moment their eyes held; then he silently saluted Llewelyn and vanished into the wooded darkness beyond the road.
Ednyved was now at his side. He said, "Well?"
"Three dead, including one gutshot so badly that I thought he'd count death a mercy. Four captured. The rest fled. One horse taken. And this." Handing
Llewelyn the parchment roll.
Llewelyn, too, was startled at sight of the seal. "Chester, no less!" He turned, beckoned to the closest man. "Rosser, fetch a torch."
"One of those taken is the lack-wit who led them right to us. A fool of the first order, but you might want to talk with him nonetheless, Llewelyn. He says his name is de Hodnet. Is that not what an English friend of yours be called, too?"
Surprised, Llewelyn nodded. "Yes, Stephen de Hodnet. Yet the last I heard, Stephen was attached to Fulk Fitz Warin's household, not Montalt's. Of course, Stephen does have several brothers" He broke off and, after a moment, laughed and shook his head. "But no, I could not be that lucky!"
GODFREY was cursing under his breath. Edwin sat stunned and silent beside him.
They both stiffened at Llewelyn's approach, watching warily as he stopped before them and then moved toward Walter de Hodnet.
Walter waited no less warily. The man standing before him was quite young, nineteen or twenty, dressed in the same homespun as his comrades, and Walter was startled when he said, in fluent French, "I'm Llewelyn ab lorwerth.
Welcome to Wales."
Walter flushed; even as frightened as he was, he did not miss the mockery in the other's voice. But he could not afford pride, not now, and he said hurriedly, "It's glad I am that you speak French, my lord. If I may say so, you're young to have made such a name for yourself." He summoned up a smile, was encouraged when Llewelyn smiled back. "My lord Llewelyn, may I speak plainly? I can pay for my release; you need only name your price. My father"
"You do not remember me, do you?"
Bewildered, Walter shook his head. "We've met? My lord, I think not. I would"
Llewelyn was still smiling. "A pity your memory is so poor, Walter de Hodnet.
For I do remember you, all too well."
This was no pretense, Llewelyn saw; Walter was genuinely baffled. He stood looking down at the Norman knight, and then, abruptly tiring

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f this cat-and-mouse game, he said, "I think you'll remember if you put ur mjnd to it. Think back some years, to a summer noon and a rneadow beyond
Shrewsbury, to a chestnut gelding and a fearful tenyear-old boy."
"I still do not" Walter began, and then sucked in his breath.
Llewelyn saw his face twitch, saw his eyes glaze over with horror, and he said, "You see? You have not forgotten me, after all."
Rhys and Ednyved had been following this exchange with increasing curiosity.
Now Rhys demanded, "What is this English to you, Llewelyn?"
"A man who has long owed me a debt." Speaking rapidly in Welsh, Llewelyn gave them a terse summary of that long-ago encounter by Yokethul Brook, concluding in French, "So what say you? What shall I do with him?"
Rhys's eyes flicked to Walter. "Need you ask? Kill him," he said, without hesitation. He'd answered in Welsh, for he used French only under duress, but it was obvious that Walter understood; he was ashen.
"Ednyved?"
Ednyved shrugged. "This English is such a dolt, it would be almost a shame to lose him; never have I seen a man so eager to be ambushed. And he is the brother of your friend. Would his death grieve Stephen?"
"I very much doubt it," Llewelyn said dryly, saw Walter flinch, and thought that Stephen had just unknowingly gained vengeance for a childhood of beatings and intimidation.
"Well, I can think of no other reasons to spare him, Llewelyn. There are too many English as it is; one less would be no loss. This grievance you hold against him, how deep does it fester?"
Llewelyn smiled at that. "Is there ever a time when you do not go right to the heart of the matter? The answer is, of course, that it does not . . not anymore."
He gazed down at Walter, his eyes thoughtful. And then he turned, for Rosser was approaching with a burning pine torch.
"Ah, at last." Breaking the seal, he held the parchment up to the light.
"Let's see what message is worth the lives of three men." Beginning to read, he laughed aloud, beckoned to those within hearing range.
"It seems King Richard had more to fear from his fellow Christian crusaders than he did from the infidels. On his way back from the Holy Land, he fell into the hands of his erstwhile ally, the Duke of Austria, and is being held for ransom by the German Emperor!"
His men had gathered around to listen. They burst out laughing, too, began to exchange markedly unsympathetic quips about the English King's plight.
Llewelyn was rapidly scanning the rest of the letter. "Wait, you've

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yet to hear the best of it. When word reached England, Richard's brother John did himself proud in the finest tradition of Cain and Abel, at once set about gaining the crown for himself. He's sailed for France, where he means to ally himself with the French King Philip. It seems they plan to offer the Emperor an even larger ransom not to let Richard go!"
Llewelyn was elated, for nothing better served Welsh interests than English discord. God had indeed been good to Wales, he thought, in giving Richard a brother as untrustworthy as John. With Richard languishing in some Austrian castle and John scheming to steal the throne, the English would be too taken up with their own troubles to have time to spare for Welsh conquest. That meant he'd have a free hand to move against Davydd, to force a battle that would break his uncle's power once and for all.
"One good turn deserves another, so I wish John well," he said, and laughed again. "For although he does not know it yet, he's going to give me Gwynedd."
"I do not doubt it, my Prince," Ednyved said with mock servility, "but at the moment you're a rebel on the run, and we'd best be gone ere any of those
English soldiers reach Rhuddlan. Now," jerking his head toward their captives, "what mean you to do about them?"
"To tell you true, Ednyved, I have not made up my mind." Llewelyn walked over, looked down at his prisoners.
Godfrey tensed, and then blurted out in broken French, "My lord, spare my cousin. He's but a lad of eighteen; do not put him to the knife, I beg you."
"Why should I put any of you to the knife? There are but two legitimate times for torture, when a man has information you must have or when he has committed a sin so great that justice demands he suffer for it." But Godfrey did not fully believe him, Llewelyn saw.
And what of Walter de Hodnet? A rare jest of God, in truth, that de Hodnet should fall into his hands now, years too late. Walter was mute; but his eyes pleaded with anguished eloquence.
"You fear more than death, do you not?" Llewelyn said slowly. "You think I
mean to extract every ounce of mortal suffering for a boyhood wrong. A pity, Walter, you know so little of the Welsh. You see, we have a saying amongst my people: O hir ddyled ni ddyhr dim. 'From an old debt, nothing is due.'"
Walter stared up at him in utter disbelief. Rhys looked no less startled, but
Ednyved laughed, as if at some private joke.
"I thought it was your ambition to be Prince of Gwynedd, Llewelyn. Are you seeking sainthood, too?"
"I know you're woefully ignorant of the Scriptures, Ednyved, but

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en V°u must have heard: 'Vengeance is mine, saith the Lord.'" Llewe-
1 n paused, and then added in Welsh, "Of course, we do have another verb i rather fancy: The best revenge, contempt.'" Ednyved nodded, eyes alight in amused understanding. "Now that ounds more like you," he said, as Walter found his voice.
"You truly mean to let me go?" Walter sounded more suspicious than relieved, for magnanimity to an enemy was an alien concept to him.
"Yes, I do, but I rather doubt you'll thank me for it. For I mean to release your men, too. I should think they'll have a most interesting tale to tell Montalt. You've hardly endeared yourself to them, have you?"
Walter opened his mouth, shut it abruptly, but he was unable to keep his eyes from shifting toward Godfrey. Llewelyn saw, smiled.
"Of course you will have time to think up an explanation for your appalling ineptitude ... on your walk to Rhuddlan. For although you are free to go, we'll be keeping your horse and armor. Spoils of war . . . remember?"
Five minutes ago, Walter would have bartered anything on God's earth for his life and not counted the cost. But his were now the changed priorities of reprieve, and he gave a gasp of dismay. "If I do reach Rhuddlan like thatnaked, alone, on footChrist, I'll be a laughingstock!"
"Yes," Llewelyn agreed. "I know." And signaling to two of his men, he said, "Strip him of his armor."
Walter scrambled to his feet, began to back away. In that instant his fear of humiliation was greater than his fear of death, and his eyes darted to the dagger in Llewelyn's belt. For a mad moment he saw himself lunging for it, plunging the blade into Llewelyn's chest, and racing for the woods.
But his was an easy face to read. Llewelyn felt a sudden surge of excitement.
"It is your choice, Walter," he said softly, almost encouragingly.
Walter's throat muscles contracted; he had not enough saliva to swallow. The realization that Llewelyn wanted him to go for the knife was a lifeline back to sanity. Appalled by what he'd almost done, he sagged against the nearest tree.
"I swear by all the saints that you'll regret this day," he said, choking on his hatred, and Rhys lost all patience. In three strides he'd crossed the clearing, had his dagger poised at Walter's throat.
"Are you so eager to die, English?" he demanded. "Think you that we need an excuse to claim your life?"
"He does not speak Welsh, Rhys," Llewelyn said, amused, and Rhys smiled grimly.
"Mayhap not, but he understands me well enough."

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Walter had lost all color; a vein showed at his temple, throbbing wildly against skin damp with sweat.
"Yes," Llewelyn conceded. "I daresay he does!" Glancing up at the darkening sky, he realized that they'd already tarried here too long, and he moved toward Walter's men. "You understand what was said?"
Godfrey had been staring at Walter de Hodnet, eyes glittering. Now he looked up at Llewelyn, nodded, and then grinned. "Mem," he said, and then gestured toward Walter, adding something in English which Llewelyn did not understand;
he caught only a name, Giles.
But time was on his uncle's side; some of the fleeing soldiers might have reached Rhuddlan by now. He still held Chester's dispatch. Unsheathing his dagger, he slashed at the parchment until it hung in tattered ribbons. Handing it to the wide-eyed Edwin, he said in slow, deliberate French, "Here, lad.
Give this to Montalt. And tell him that Llewelyn ab lorwerth has a message for
Chester: Stay out of Wales."
Edwin could not envision himself ever giving a message like that to a Norman lord, and he was much relieved when his cousin said, "I'd like nothing better, my lord!"
Edwin released his breath, clutched the shredded parchment to his chest.
Godfrey would keep faith with the young Welsh lord, and he was glad, for they owed this man their lives. He doubted that the Earl of Chester would heed the warning, would stay out of Wales. But he would, he thought, with sudden resolve. He was going home. Home to Aldford.
LISIEUX, NORMANDY
Majj 1194
L
J.N January 1194, Queen Eleanor reached Germany with the one hundred thousand silver marks demanded as ransom for her son's freedom. Richard was finally released on February

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one year and six weeks after he'd been taken captive in Austria. By ' ^j, he was once more upon English soil, where he set about exri guishing the embers of his brother John's rebellion. John's castles of TickhiH and Nottingham fell to him within a fortnight, and on March 31 . sUJnrnoned John to appear before his great council. John was given forty days to answer the charges of treason.
He defied the summons, did not appear, and on May 10 he was outlawed, declared to have forfeited any claims to the Angevin crown, and then stripped of the earldoms of Gloucester and Mortain, of his castles, estates, and manors in
England and Normandy.
Two days later, Richard and Eleanor sailed from Portsmouth. Landing at
Barfleur, they headed south into Normandy. After lingering a few days at Caen, they moved on to Lisieux, where they were greeted with excessive affability by
Archdeacon John de Alengon, Richard's vicechancellor, and there joined by
Joanna Plantagenet, sister to Richard, daughter to Eleanor, young widow of
William the Good, King of Sicily.
". . . AND after I set up a gallows before the walls of Nottingham Castle, hanged a score of John's men, and left them for the ravens, the others lost their taste for treason, moved out even faster than the ravens moved in!"
"What of Johnny, Richard? Have you any word as to his whereabouts?"
"Oh, I know exactly where John is, Joannaskulking about the French court. He fled to Paris months ago, after Philip sent him warning that my release was imminent. 'Look to yourself; the Devil is loose,'" Richard quoted with relish, and then laughed.
Joanna laughed, too. "This has not been one of Philip's better years, what with your return and his troubles with the Pope."
"What is the straight of that, Jo? The garbled account I heard did not seem likely to me, that Philip sought to repudiate his Queen the day after their marriage."
"Likely or not, it's true enough. They were wed at Amiens last August, and the very next day Philip disavowed the marriage, refused to recognize Ingeborg as his Queen. When she balked at being shipped back to Denmark like defective goods, Philip convened a council of French bishops at Compiegne, got them to declare the marriage null and void, then confined Ingeborg to a nunnery. But the Danish King did not take kindly to this, and he appealed to the Pope on his sister's behalf. I expect His Holiness will order Philip to take Ingeborg back, but Philip is nothing if not stubborn, and I'm not sure he'll yield even if the Pope does lay France under Interdict."

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"Jesii, the idiot, the utter idiot!" Richard shook his head in amused amazement. "Mayhap I ought to ask him if he wants to send Ingeborg t0 me at
Rouen. We could pen her up with Alais, split the cost of their upkeep!"
He laughed again. In the shadows behind him, Archdeacon Alenc.on could not hide his disapproval. After a moment, his eyes shifted from Richard to the woman at his side. Eleanor was watching her son, a faint smile curving her mouth. It was not a smile to give Alenc.on cornfort, reminding him what an implacable enemy this woman made. Upon gaining her own freedom, one of her first acts had been to declare an amnesty for those imprisoned in English jails, declaring that she knew from personal experience "how irksome it was to be a prisoner." And yet she'd shown no pity at all for the woman confined for five years now at her son's command, the unfortunate Alais, who'd been raised at her court, had come to womanhood in her husband's bed.
But it was too late to worry about Eleanor's enmity. He'd chosen to gamble, could only hope he'd not made a fool's wager. Moving closer, he murmured, "Madame, might I have a few moments alone with you? I've a matter most urgent to discuss."
Eleanor felt no surprise. She had a sharp eye for the unease of others, and
Alenc.on's overly hearty welcome put her in mind of a man whistling his way past a graveyard. She asked no questions, came unobtrusively to her feet and followed Alen$on from the hall.
The Archdeacon's manor was a substantial structure of stone and timber, rising up two stories on the bank of the River Touques. It was to an upper chamber that Alenc.on led Eleanor, stepping aside so she could enter first. As she did, he closed the door quietly behind her. Eleanor stood very still, staring at the man by the unshuttered window, silhouetted against a twilight sky of soft, shadowed lavender.
"Mother," he said at last, so low she could not be sure he'd spoken at all.
There was an oil lamp sputtering on a trestle table. She reached for it, took several strides forward into the room, held it up so that the smoky light fell across his face.
John blinked, flinched away from the sudden illuminating glare. His mother's face was impassive, but her eyes pinned him to the wall, amber ice in which he could read the reflection of his every sin, could read accusation and indictment, but no hint of absolution.
He forgot entirely his carefully rehearsed plea of explanation and atonement.
When the silence had become more than he could endure, he blurted out, "You know why I'm here. I need you to speak for me. You're the one person Richard would be likely to heed."
"I daresay you're right. But whatever makes you think I would?"