Here Be Dragons - 1 (90 page)

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"You're serious?" Llewelyn turned to stare at his son. "What can I say, Gruffydd? I think you're too generous for your own good; a horse like this does not come along that often."
"Nonetheless, I want you to have him." Gruffydd watched as Liewelyn reached out and lightly stroked the stallion's arched neck; it snorted, flung its head up. "However, I'm afraid you cannot ride him just yet. The man I bought him from said he was somewhat skittish, no easy horse to ride. What I'd like to do is to school him myself, until I'm sure he's a safe mount for you."
"A safe mount for me?" Llewelyn echoed incredulously. But his astonishment yielded almost at once to irritation. It was not just that he prided himself upon his horsemanship; it was also that he knew himself to be a much better rider than Gruffydd, who tight-reined his horses seemed to take a perverse pride in high-strung, half-broken mounts. "I hardly think that necessary, Gruffydd. I expect I've been riding long enough to know how to handle a skittish horse."
Gruffydd was still smiling. "I know you have in the past, Papa. But you were much younger then; the danger was less. I do not mean to offend you, but aging bones are brittle, break more easily. What you were once able to do might now be beyond you, might"
"Lead the stallion over to the horse block," Llewelyn cut in sharply. Men at once moved back, cleared space, and took up positions to watch. Gruffydd shrugged, stepped aside. And Davydd felt a sudden chill.
Llewelyn did not mount right away; instead he stood quietly, letting the horse become accustomed to his scent, the sound of his voice. As he studied the stallion, his anger ebbed and his eyes grew wary. He was close enough now to see the knotted ridges on the horse's withers, the marks of abuse. When he ran his hand over the stallion's shoulder, it flinched. Somewhat skittish, Gruffydd had said. More than that, he suspected, much more. The stallion's head and neck were held well down; the position of its tail told him that so was its croup, while its back was arching like that of a cat. Even more than the laid-back ears, these were the signs of a restive animal, a likely bolter.
"Papa." Davydd had decided to trust his instincts. Following L'e' welyn to the horse block, he said quietly, "Papa, I wish you'd recon sider. I have a bad feeling about this horse."
"So have I."
"Then why risk it? You always told me that horses can best tamed with patience, that in any contest of brute force, the horse bound to win." . ^
"I know, lad. But if I back down now, I take an even greater that men think me afraid to ride him."
"Jesu, Papa, who could doubt your courage?"

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Llewelyn gave the boy a twisted smile. "Do not deceive yourself, Davydd. When a man reaches a point where he has nothing left to prove, he's either dead or dying." Davydd looked so troubled that he added reassuringly, "There's no great trick to handling a bolting horse. I need only get him turning in circles, let him tire himself out."
Unbuckling his scabbard, Llewelyn handed Davydd his sword. Taking the reins, he waved Davydd and the groom back, then gripped the pommel and swung up into the saddle. He was expecting some sort of resistance, but what he got was bottled lightning. The stallion shot forward, but instead of bolting, it began to buck wildly, kicking out in a frenzy, coming down with such force that
Llewelyn felt as if his spine would snap in two.
Men had scattered in all directions, were shouting encouragements. But
Llewelyn knew there could be but one outcome, knew he could absorb only so much of this punishment. He was half blinded by his own sweat, tasted blood where his teeth had torn his inner lip, and his legs were cramping in painful spasms; he was finding it harder and harder to throw his weight into his heels, to maintain his grip on the saddle. But the stallion had yet to show any signs of tiring, was twisting and plunging as if crazed, so desperate to free itself that at times all four feet were off the ground.
The castle dogs were going berserk, making excited dashes at the panicked horse, and they only frightened it all the more. When a large alaunt cut directly in front of it, the stallion reared up suddenly, and Llewelyn felt his first jolt of real fear. It was not that he expected the horse to throw itself backward. For all the folklore he'd heard of outlaw stallions that deliberately sought to crush their riders, he'd never encountered such a rogue killer, did not know a man who had. What he feared now was not so much the stallion's intentions as the muddy bailey; the ground had not had time to dry, was still slippery and rainsoaked. He slackened the reins, leaned forward, but the stallion was already scrambling, starting to slide. For several terrifying seconds the animal struggled to keep its balance, and then it was going over backward and Llewelyn kicked his feet free of the stirrups, flung himself sideways as the stallion fell.
The ground was soft, but Llewelyn landed at an awkward angle, his e8 twisting under him. He lay stunned for several moments, conscious ut dazed, aware at first only of pain. There was mud in his mouth; he
^Pat it out, started to sit up. But the bailey began to spin, and he lay
. a°k, closed his eyes. When he opened them again, Joanna was kneel-
n§ beside him, cradling his head as he'd done for Rhys. He recognized
"er faces now, Davydd and Ednyved and Gruffydd, faces white and

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taut, the faces of men looking into an open coffin, and he swallowed said, "How is the horse?"
They stared at him and then burst into unsteady laughter. Joanna laughed, too, or perhaps she sobbed; he could not tell which, for she was leaning forward, had begun to cover his mud-streaked face with kisses. Llewelyn braced himself on his elbow, started to sit up again Now that his head had cleared, he was concerned that he might have broken a bone, and it was with some trepidation that he ran his hand over his throbbing left leg. Once he concluded that he'd done no more than pull a muscle, he closed his eyes again, silently giving thanks to the Virgin for protecting him on this, the holiest of her days. As he turned his head, he saw that the stallion had regained its feet. It, too, seemed to have been accorded a measure of divine mercy, for it had also escaped serious injury. It was standing quietly, sides heaving, head down, lookingfor the moment at leastlike the most docile of palfreys.
Llewelyn looked from the horse to his eldest son. "Somewhat skittish, Gruffydd?" He said it with deliberate wryness, as if it were a jest, and a number of people laughed. But Gruffydd did not. Nor did Davydd.
"Before God, Papa, I did not know he was so wild. And I did try to discourage you from riding him ..."
Llewelyn heard Davydd draw a sharp, hissing breath. But he kept his eyes upon
Gruffydd, saw the color mount in the younger man's face. At last he said abruptly, "Help me up, Davydd." It was painful to bear weight upon his left leg, but not enough for alarm. He glanced down at himself and grimaced, for his tunic was soaked with sweat and caked with mud. "See to the stallion for me, Gruffydd. Right now I need a long, hot bath. And whilst I soak, I shall try to decide who best deserves to own such a remarkable beast. Pembroke's a possibility, but I'm more inclined to offer it to Hubert de Burgh."
As he expected, that got a laugh, gave him the opportunity to make an unhurried, graceful exit. But Joanna was not deceived; she knew him too well, knew he was playing to their audience, that only when they were alone would she find out the full extent of his injuries.
ENTERING their bedchamber, Joanna discovered that Llewelyn had not bothered to summon his squires; he had simply flung himself dovvfl upon the bed. She moved toward him, stopping several feet away, have to tell you," she said slowly.
"That was one of the most foolhardy things you've ever done."
Llewelyn's mouth twitched. "No, breila. That was the most to hardy."

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He held out his hand and Joanna caught it between her own. "Let jj,e summon a doctor, Llewelyn. I'll not rest easy until I hear him say you are well and truly unhurt."
"If you must. But not now, not yet." He allowed Joanna to help him strip off his runic and his muddy boots; then he lay back against the pillows, his eyes closing again. She stroked his hair, pressed her lips to the pulse in his throat. He was drenched in perspiration; she could hear the rapid pounding of his heart, and her own took up a quicker cadence, put he did not seem to be in great discomfort; she read exhaustion in his face more than pain.
"You look so ... remote, so far away. What are you thinking of?"
"A day twenty years past, the day I gave Gruffydd that white palfrey." His eyes remained closed, but he seemed to sigh. "What a twisted road we've traveled since then ..."
"Llewelyn ... do you believe Gruffydd? That he truly did not know the stallion was so wild?"
"He knew." Llewelyn turned his head on the pillow, met her eyes. "He wanted to see me take a fall," he said softly. "To see me fail."
Joanna's suspicions were uglier than his. But she said nothing, for she knew now that he'd not walked away unscathed, after all. Knowing that he'd insist upon eating in the great hall, she said, "I'll go to the kitchens, instruct the cooks to delay dinner. Try to rest, beloved; I'll be back."
Ednyved was waiting for her on the outer stairway of the Great Tower. "How does he, in truth?"
"He has no hurts you can see. Where is Gruffydd?"
USUALLY, grooms had to resort to a lip twitch in order to handle the white stallion. But this time it had submitted meekly, too shaken by its fall to summon up a spirit of defiance.
Gruffydd was still shaken, too. He lingered in the stable long after we grooms had gone, slumping down on a large bale of hay. It was
9uiet, and the smells of horses and hay and manure were comforting in 'heir very familiarity. He sat there for some time, alone in the semi^arkness, listening to the soft nickering of the animals, trying to make Sense out of emotions that were as contradictory as they were compelIri8- His senses were normally acute, but he'd let himself be lulled into "Caution, and he did not hear the footsteps in the straw, jumped when a v°ice spoke suddenly out of the shadows.
How disappointed you must be." k The voice was familiar, and yet it was not.
It sounded like Davydd, Jt held none of Davydd's vaunted control, the icy indifference that

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Davydd had learned to wield like a whip. This voice was uneven, raw with rage, throbbing with hatred. Gruffydd got slowly to his feet, and one of the shadows moved, revealing that it was indeed his younger brother. But this was a Davydd he'd never seen before, and he instinctively dropped his hand to his sword hilt.
"I do not know what you mean."
"Yes, you do. You deliberately goaded Papa into riding that stallion, knowing full well that the horse was not broken!"
"That is not true. I did not know."
Davydd's lip curled back. "Liar!" he jeered. "No man buys a horse without riding it first. And you even claim you were warned it was skittish. You'd never have resisted a challenge like that, not you! You tried to ride that stallion, and if there were any justice, you'd have broken your worthless neck! Was that when you got the idea? When you found you could not master him yourself?"
Gruff ydd took a swift, threatening step forward. He towered over the younger man, but Davydd stood his ground. Gruffydd had flushed. Lying did not come easily to him, and he made no more false denials, instead fell back upon the truth, as he perceived it to be. "Even if I did know about the stallion, I had no evil intent in mind, never meant for Papa to be hurt."
"I'll grant you that. You were more ambitious, were hoping for more than a broken leg. I think you've grown weary of waiting, think you wanted him dead!"
Gruffydd gasped, then lashed out. Davydd saw the blow coming and recoiled, but he was not fast enough. Had he not pulled away, it might have broken his jaw.
As it was, it had enough force to snap his head back, to stagger him. He stumbled and Gruffydd swung again, buried his fist in Davydd's stomach. He doubled up, fell to the floor just as Joanna and Ednyved entered the stable.
"Jesus God, no!" Joanna gave Gruffydd one incredulous look of horror, knelt by her son. He was bleeding profusely, and she was afraid to touch him, afraid to find a wound that might be mortal.
Ednyved, too, had whitened at sight of Davydd's blood. "Christ, what have you done?" he demanded, grabbing Gruffydd roughly by the arm.
Gruffydd jerked free. "What do you think, that I stabbed him?' Outraged, he drew his sword halfway up the scabbard. "Do you see any blood on the blade? I
hit him, that's all."
"He's lying, Ednyved, has to be. Jesu, look at all this blood!"
"Mama ..." Davydd coughed, struggled to sit up. "Mama, Im n hurt." . s
Gruffydd let his sword slide down the scabbard. "Your precl
I'm not

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nestling has a nosebleed, Madame/' he said scornfully. "No more than that. .
this time."
Joanna could see now that Gruffydd spoke the truth, that this frightening rush of bright red blood was indeed coming from Davydd's nose. Forcing him to lie flat, she sought to stanch the bleeding with her veil. Gruffydd stood watching for a moment longer, then turned and stalked out.
As soon as the bleeding ceased, Davydd insisted upon sitting up. "I need some water," he muttered. "I cannot go out there with blood all over me." Ednyved found a drinking pail, but when Joanna tried to help, Davydd snapped, "I am not a child, Mama, do not need to be coddled!"
"Davydd, that was not my intent!" But Gruffydd's taunt came back to Joanna then"your precious nestling"and her hand slipped from Davydd's sleeve. She would have protested, though, when he turned to go. But Ednyved caught her eye, shook his head.
"It's best to let him be," he advised, once Davydd was out of hearing. "His pride is sore, and that's not a hurt a mother can heal."
Joanna did not agree, but she had not the energy to argue. Reaction had set in and she was trembling again. She looked about in vain for a stable workbench, dropped down upon the bale of hay. "Till the day I die," she said numbly, "I'll never be able to forget that sight, Davydd crumpled on the ground, drenched in blood, with Gruffydd standing over him, hand on sword hilt. Can you blame me, Ednyved, for thinking what I did?"
Ednyved sat beside her on the bale. "No, for I thought it, too."
"Llewelyn thinks Gruffydd wanted to see him take a fall. I would that I could believe he had nothing more in mind. Tell me the truth, Ednyved. Do you think
Gruffydd was hoping Llewelyn would be badly hurt, mayhap even killed?"
He seemed in no hurry to respond. "I saw his face when Llewelyn was thrown. If he was not fearful for Llewelyn, he's a rather remarkable actor, and acting has never been one of his talents."
"But he had to know the risk!"
"Joanna, you're asking me what only Gruffydd can answer. It may e that even he does not know for certes. If you're asking whether Grufydd hates Llewelyn, I
think he has learned to hate him. But in a strange Way, I think he still loves him, too."
'How can he hate and love Llewelyn at the same time?"
Ednyved shrugged. "Probably the same way you hate and love "V he said, and
Joanna jumped to her feet, began to pace.
Gruffydd has no intention of honoring Llewelyn's wishes, of ac-