Here Be Dragons - 1 (65 page)

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them, promising them most of Gwynedd if they lead a rebellion against me."
"He offered them most of Gwynedd?" Joanna echoed, sounding so shocked that he felt the need to reassure her.
"You need not fear. There is a world of difference between being invested with possession in London and then taking possession in Gwynedd. John's grant is more symbolic than substantial, but it does show how utterly intent he is upon vengeance, upon seeing my head impaled on London's new bridge"
Llewelyn broke off, for Joanna was no longer listening. She was staring past him with glazed amber eyes, and when he touched her shoulder, he found that her body had gone rigid with rage.
"Liar!" she spat. "That double-dealing liar! He promised me, he swore on his oath of honor that he'd safeguard Davydd's inheritance, that I need never fear for Davydd's future. And fool that I was, I believed him!"
"Does it truly surprise you so, Joanna? Davydd is my son." "He is my son, too
. . . and John's grandson." To Joanna, it was the final betrayal. She turned away, moved to the window. Several of the nuns had gathered at a discreet distance. They were casting uneasy yet curious glances toward the Welshmen who were now loitering near the guest house, keeping an anxious vigil for
Llewelyn. So turbulent had this past hour been that she'd all but forgotten the danger Llewelyn could be in, the risk he'd taken in coming into England.
But the sight of his waiting men brought her fear back in a rush.
"Llewelyn, you must go!"
"I know." But he made no move to depart. Instead he stepped toward her, pulled her away from the window. "I do not mind you bedazzling my men, but I'd hate for you to disconcert those poor nuns!"
It was not the realization that she was clad only in her chemise that brought the blood up into Joanna's cheeks, it was the unexpected amusement in
Llewelyn's voice. She started to ask him how he could be joking now, of all times, when she saw what he had in his hand, her discarded gown.
"You'd best make haste to dress, breila. We've a long ride ahead 01
us."
She raised her eyes to his face, and then closed the space remaining between them. He drew her into his arms, for a brief moment held n close.
"My love, you will not be sorry. You will not ever be sorry.' ..
Llewelyn could not share her certainty. "We'll try, Joanna," he softly. "At least we'll try."

H
DOVER CASTLE, ENGLAND
May 1213
UOb
SOMEWHERE a dog was howling, a forlorn, haunting plaint that echoed eerily upon the sea-misted air, rending the fabric of Gruffydd's troubled dreams and jarring him into abrupt, uneasy wakefulness. He dreaded nights like this, dreaded the solitude and the silence, the hours alone with his ghosts.
He could think of few sounds as mournful as a dog's howling ... or as disquieting. All knew it to be an ill omen, a harbinger of coming woe, and he instinctively fumbled for his talisman, the agate stone that gave the wearer strength, valor, the fortitude to prevail against his enemies. His guards had long since stolen his rings; he'd managed, though, to conceal the agate in his clothing, and in the months since Nottingham, it had been a secret source of comfort, a tangible link with Gwynedd. But his fingers plucked in vain at the torn wool tunic, the begrimed shirt. Fully awake now, he remembered. The agate was gone, lost on the road to Dover.
It was of no matter, he told himself resolutely. Dogs barked and men died, but the one happening need not presage the other. He lay back upon the pallet, began to whisper rapidly, "Sweet Lord Jesus derend me, grant me remission of all my sins and keep me from all peril. Lord, save me waking, save me sleeping, that I may sleep in peace and awake in Thee in the glory of
Paradise." He felt better at that; soon after, he slept.
When he awakened again, sun was seeking entry through the arw loops high above his head, and two men were standing over his Nlet with drawn swords.
nsvver to John's urgent summons to arms, the men of England began gather in early May at Barham Downs in Kent. The response was

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heartening; the impending French invasion had vitalized public opinion in
John's favor, and those unmoved by patriotism were motivated by the knowledge that to refuse to bear arms was to risk "perpetual servitude."
For the past week John had been staying with the Knights Templar in Ewell, and it was to Ewell that Richard was returning on this Tuesday morning in mid-May.
Chilham Castle was less than twenty miles from Ewell, and Richard had taken advantage of his proximity to pay a courtesy call upon his young betrothed.
He invariably enjoyed his visits to Chilham. It was gratifying to spend a day riding about the manor demesne, to see the green fields and well-fed livestock and know it would all eventually be his. That Rohese de Dover was a gentle, biddable girl, shyly eager to please, only made his marital prospects all the more alluring.
But he'd had an ulterior motive for this particular visit to Chilham: to escape, if only for a few days, the oppressive atmosphere of his father's court. What John had most feared was at last coming to pass; the circle was closing.
Sparing Gruffydd had not sundered Llewelyn's alliance with the other Welsh
Princes. The hangings of the hostages had unified the Welsh as nothing else could have done. Rhys Gryg had fallen into John's hands, was being held captive at the royal castle of Carmarthen. But Maelgwn and Gwenwynwyn were ravaging Norman settlements in South Wales, and Llewelyn had retaken the only two castles still in Norman control; he had now regained all of the
Perfeddwlad, regained all he'd been forced to yield up to John at Aberconwy.
The Welsh were a God-cursed, stiff-necked, and utterly vexatious people, John said bitterly, but they did have an inexplicable ability to rise phoenixlike from the ashes of defeat, to soar upward on wings too scorched for flight.
As troublesome an enemy as Llewelyn was proving to be, he did not pose a serious threat to John's sovereignty. But as winter thawed into a verdant spring, John found himself facing a more dangerous foe, one who had the power to do what Llewelyn could not, to bring his reign and his life to an abrupt and bloody end.
At Christmas the Pope had at last invoked his ultimate weapon, dispatched
Stephen Langton to the French court with letters formally deposing John as
King of England and freeing his subjects from their oaths of allegiance.
Philip was more than eager to show himself a goo son of the Church, and he immediately announced plans to invade t gland and claim John's crown for a more worthy aspirant, his own Louis. (0
With a French fleet being rigged at Boulogne, John was force ^ acknowledge that time had finally run out, and he hastened to «e

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nvoys to Rome. This eleventh-hour capitulation gained him an exten. n of the
Pope's deadline; the papal legate Pandulf was now in Enland to accept his submission to papal authority.
By coming to terms with the Pope, John had thus been able to deny Philip the opportunity to cloak himself in the mantle of the Church, to sanctify his invasion as a holy war of retribution against a renegade King- But if Philip's pretensions had been sabotaged, his ambitions remained intact; the French fleet would sail with or without the Pope's blessings. Which meant, Richard thought bleakly, that his father would soon be fighting a war on two fronts, trying to repulse a French landing in the south whilst Philip's Welsh allies turned the Marches into a wasteland of smoldering manors and charred fields.
And if it came to that, how long would John's disaffected barons hold fast?
How long ere men like Derby and Huntingdon and de Clare elected to throw in their lot with Philip?
Upon his arrival at Ewell, Richard was surprised to find Isabelle walking in the garden with her two youngest children. He had not seen much of Isabelle in recent months, still less of his little half-brothers and sister, for John had become obsessed with fears for their safety. After learning of de Vesci and
Fitz Walter's intriguing, he'd required armed bodyguards, not only for himself but for his family, too; he'd even gone so far as to give orders that no one be admitted to the presence of his eldest son and heir without written permission.
Isabelle greeted Richard with unfeigned warmth, for they were long-standing allies in a conspiracy of self-interest, one dedicated to John's weal.
"Did my father meet with the papal legate?"
"Yes, they met yesterday in Dover." Isabelle gestured for the nurses to take the children on ahead. "It did not go well, I fear. Will told me that Pandulf was aloof, unable to conceal his doubts, his suspicions that
John was not acting in good faith. And the terms offered were the very ones John had scorned for these five years past. He had to agree to receive Stephen Langton as Archbishop of Canterbury, to reinstate the er§Y who'd gone into exile when the Interdict was declared, and to recompense the Church for its losses. But what I think John found hard-
s to swallow was the Pope's insistence that he pardon Eustace de Vesci nd Robert Fitz Walter, restore them to favor."
Fib r°m ^e'r resPecnve exiles in Scotland and France, de Vesci and fiart W
^ac^ been loudly and persistently proclaiming themselves Caj ^*s to conscience, Christians who could not serve an excommunispu . n§- Richard had not expected the Pope to give credence to so s a rationale for treason, and he could only shake his head in

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wonder, conclude that the name this particular Pope had chosen f himself was uncommonly apt: Innocent In.
"I thought I knew John so well, Richard, but I've never seen hi like this. Never."
"What man would not be distraught, sore crazed with wrath?" "But that is just it; he's not in a tearing rage. Richard, he is ... Weu there's but one way to describe his mood. Do you remember when Regl inald de Dammartin gave John those weighted dice? Remember how he kept winning every toss, until he finally relented and showed us the trick? He is acting now just as he did that day, like a man who knows he cannot lose."
Isabelle glanced about, reassured herself that none was within hearing range.
"He has called a council meeting for this forenoon, and he means to summon
Pandulf back to Ewell on the morrow. I do not know what he has in mind. I can only tell you what he said, that he has thought of a way to thwart Philip's invasion plans, whilst gaining His Holiness the Pope as a steadfast ally."
"Papa is more than clever; at times he can be utterly ingenious. But not even
Merlin could manage that. The Pope would never trust Papa again. Nor would he intervene on Papa's behalf unless the Church had a stake in the war, and it does not."
Isabelle shrugged. "I daresay you're right. But John is strangely calm for a man beset on all sides. He Richard, look. The prisoner being escorted through the gateway ... is that not Llewelyn's son?"
Richard spun around. Gruffydd's guards were pulling him from his horse. He stumbled, nearly lost his balance, and looked in Richard's direction. Richard saw recognition on his face and, for the briefest of moments, an involuntary appeal.
JOHN glanced around the table at the few men he did not suspect of complicity in the de Vesci-Fitz Walter plot. They'd listened intently, without interruption, as he explained what he planned to do, and why. and he'd seen their initial shock slowly give way to understanding, an then approval.
"Well?" he said. "Now that you know, what say you?" "It ought to work,"
Chester conceded, and then added, with u characteristic enthusiasm, "For certes, Philip will be caught utterly guard." d
"So, too, will His Holiness the Pope." Will was beaming; « been some years since John had seen such unqualified admiration' ^ brother's eyes. Pembroke, too, was nodding appreciatively. But i Reginald de Dammartin, the fugitive
Count of Boulogne, who e lohn's own opinion of his desperate ploy. Dammartin was a newcome -r to John's inner circle; he'd fled to England the preceding year, after sa bitter dispute with the French King. Aggressively independent, no »t verly scrupulous, and possessed of a brutally candid tongue, he hacd not found many friends at
John's court. But as he was also utterly with out self-pity/ undeniably quick-witted, and a raconteur par excellence, , ^th an inexhaustible supply of boisterous, bawdy tales as uproarious a^S they were unseemly, John had conceived a genuine liking for the man^^ quite apart from Dammartin's considerable value as a political ally, fotf not only was Dammartin Count of
Boulogne by right of his wife, he alscr^ held the Norman fiefs of Aumale, Domfort, and Mortain, which Johnn had lost to Philip in 1204.
Dammartin was grinning. "There is but one word for such an un derhanded stratagembrilliant."
The other men laughed. They were still laughing as the solar dooi opened and
Gruffydd was thrust into the chamber.
His guards shoved Gruffydd forward, forced him to kneel before the English
King. John pushed his chair back from the table, watched Gruffydd in unnerving silence, his eyes speculative, not easily read.

"You're looking rather bedraggled these days," he said at last, and some of
Gruffydd's fear was lost in a sudden surge of hatred.
"I'll not beg. No matter what you mean to do."
"What I mean to do," John said blandly, "is to instruct your guards that you may have a bath upon your return to Dover."
Gruffydd's jaw dropped. To be offered the promise of future tomorrows when he'd been measuring his life in minutes was a shock not easily absorbed. "Why would you want to do a kindness for me?"
The corner of John's mouth twitched. "I see you have your father's impeccable manners. As it happens, I mean to do you a greater kindness than that. I've decided to allow you to write a letter to your father." He reckoned to one of the guards. "Cut his bonds, but make no mistake; "e s not to be trusted. There is parchment and pen and inkwell on the table, Gruffydd. You do know how to write? If not, you can dictate to one of my scribes."
Gruffydd flushed. "I can write. I'm a Prince's son."
John's smile was sardonic, but he said only, "You may write what u please, within reason. I think you should assure Llewelyn that you
{ well, that you are not being maltreated or abused. You may tell him, ''hat I am willing to let him send Joanna to my court in order to y the truth of your assurances."
ruffydd was surreptitiously rubbing his wrists, while trying des-
^o fu tO ma^e sense °f John's sudden benevolence. In the nine s since the Nottingham hangings, he'd dwelt in death's shadow;